Cruel Fate
by Requiem's Lament
Summary: Formerly known as Aeternus Caliga. Fate can be a so cruel. Even as Rune-Midgard descends into darkness, there still is a hope for salvation. But how real is it?
1. Book of the Gilded Sun: Unhappy Surprise

RL: Hehe I hope my rather poor summary didn't scare you off. Anywho, I've decided to completely rewrite my story formerly known as Aeternus Caliga. Whether or not you have read the old version, I really hope that you enjoy this one. As with its predecessor, Cruel Fate is dedicated to my friends. Please read and review. Any comments you leave will be greatly appreciated and help me to improve my writing.

As for the disclaimer, I'll say this only once. I, Requiem's Lament do not own Ragnarok Online as it is the property of Gravity.

* * *

Marking Key 

"--" indicates scene change

"blank" indicates speech

_'blank'_ indicates thoughts

--

**Cruel Fate: Book of the Gilded Sun**

**Unhappy Surprise**

_Father in Heaven,_

_Guard us as we walk Hell's road,_

_Watch us til our end._

-_A popular Glastheimian prayer during the Second Demon War._

--

Glorious Glastheim.

Glastheim the Accursed.

Glastheim.

Throughout its long history, this city has received many titles. These three are but mere examples. The first came during Glastheim's golden age. The second was bestowed during the War of Independence. The last is the most current. Once a mighty capital, it is now no more than a dead city of ruins. Once the epitome of all things great and glorious about humanity, it now is an empty shell, less than even a shadow of its former self. Before it fell, it housed within its mighty walls brilliant wise men, regal emperors, and stalwart knights. It was that once, but no longer.

Today, only the dead walk its roads.

Despite such dangers and other unsavory facts, the ruins of the city have fascinated bards and historians, even to this day. Tales of fabulous wealth have attracted many an adventurer, but strangely, many of those who enter never return and those who do are, at worse, insane and deranged and, at best, are no longer who they used to be. Ever since a certain event, no one even comes near Glastheim.

Twenty years ago, a small group novices and their teachers vanished while traveling near the haunted ruins. Among those lost were a number of children belonging to some of Rune-Midgard's most noble houses. In desperation, the Tenth Regiment was deployed to find them. Hours passed. Then days. Soon it became months. Yet no word was ever heard from that regiment ever again. It was only twenty years ago that the Tenth was lost in its entirety. All 5,000 knights, wizards, priests, archers vanished without a trace. Though to preserve hope, the soldiers were labeled as missing in action, but everyone knew the uncomfortable truth. Ever since that day, the ruined city has been shunned like the Plague.

Today, however, is different. Very different indeed. For you see, today one of King Tristan III's twin sons along with the partially reformed Tenth Regiment have been sent to map and survey the ruins. Though the terrible incident of twenty years prior had not been forgotten, Prontera and the rest of Rune-Midgard had changed, long since grown in power and might. No more a mere average kingdom, it had become a power to be reckoned with. So great was the might of Rune-Midgard that it managed to utterly humiliated the herectical nation of Arunafelz, nearly obliterating its forces completely in the last war five years ago. Even the great Republic of Schwaltzwald requested a pact of friendship. The next logical step in furthering the kingdom's glory, so it was decided, was to thoroughly explore Glastheim and lay bare its secrets so as to demonstrate how far it had come in two decades. Though not yet at full strength, the Tenth still possessed some of the most elite and well trained soldiers. With such might, who could stand against them or even dare such a thing?

Arrogance and pride, as we know, comes with a most bitter price.

--

Several hours into their exploration, they had come across nothing. Stefan took the assignment his father had personally assigned him with the utmost seriousness, but still, it had been several rather boring hours. He sighed in disgust as old stone pillar he had been leaning on crumbled into dust. Where was the adventure and danger that the bards had made famous in songs and stories? Where were the hordes of demons and the dead that had completely annihilated the Tenth Regiment. Lounging about the main chapel turned makeshift command post, he, his friends, and the few guards with them were likewise bored to the point of death, figuratively of course. Sitting beside him, a female mage, his friend Eris, was lazily flipping through her spellbook. Glancing at the burnished bronze pocket watch that sat on a makeshift table, the young prince decided to check on the status of the operation lifted a small glass-like cube to his lips. Boring or not, spending a night in Glastheim didn't seem advisable regardless.

"All units report status," said Stefan, the cube giving off a pale yellow light as he spoke.

"This is Second Platoon reporting, sir. We are near done with mapping the outer walls."

"Third Platoon reporting. Survey of barracks complete."

"This is Lieutenant Balker. Fourth Platoon is almost done with the- Wait, what the hell is that?"

His childhood companion Friedrich, a knight, looked up from polishing his sword and gave Stefan a quizzical look.

"What was that?" murmured the knight, easing himself to his legs as he slid his sword into its sheath, "Lei, can you see anything?"

"Guys," said a hunter in a nervous tone with a hint of panic, "You might want to take a look at this."

Rising from their respective seats, the three hurried over to their friend. Standing on the raised steps of the church, they eyes nearly fell out of their sockets at what they saw far below. Shooting up like some manner of perverse plants, rotting and molding corpses were pulling themselves out of the ground. Within minutes, the undead easily outnumbered the soldiers of the fourth platoon five to one. For a moment, these bodies seemed to stand still as stone in the cold air. Then, they turned their soulless eyes on the nearby soldiers and let out a long tormented moan. Slowly, they advanced. Slowly, one step at a time, they shambled toward the stunned knights and hunters. Fortunately, the soldiers managed to collect their wits and quickly retreated onto more defensible high ground. As some knights drew large two handed swords and others linked shields, the hunters hurriedly nocked arrows onto their bows, releasing volleys as fast as they could.

"T-Those are ghouls," blurted Eris in surprise as she hastily opened her spellbook, looking for a certain page.

"What?" exclaimed Stefan, "But didn't our forces sweep the area already?"

"Tis the curse of Glastheim, milord," said a voice.

Turning round, they saw that one of their guards, a priest, had spoken. Standing beside them, the man was deathly pale and clearly shaking with poorly hidden panic.

"Curse?" muttered Stefan with mild derision, "That's just and old wives' tale."

"Then what do you call them?" asked the priest, his terrified eyes boring into the prince's.

Adjusting his own equipment, Stefan shifted his bastard sword before replying, "Abominations that need to be destroyed. Come on, we have to help out Balker."

Just as he was about to lift the glass cube up, a loud blood curdling scream pierced the air. The prince dropped the cube as he turned toward the source. Despite their best efforts, the platoon had failed to stop the constant stream of undead. These creatures tore into the soldiers. Green mottled fists slammed into shields as blessed arrows slammed into them and steel blades bit into their flesh. With unrelenting fury, the undead beat down the knights and tore into their flesh. It did not matter whether they were male or female, the ghouls tore them limb from limb, gorging themselves on human meat as blood sprayed over them. One unfortunate hunter desperately tried to push a ghoul away as it literally tore open the man's stomach before thrusting its head to consume the still warm, pulsating innards. Eris turned from the horrifying scene, vomiting over the side of the steps. Friedrich and Leidipus exchanged worried glances before looking to their friend for guidance. Just then, Stefan's dropped cube flashed a dark red as an urgent voice spoke.

"My prince, this is Third Platoon Lieutenant Yegar. You have to get out of here! Balker and Fourth Platoon have already been overrun. My men are holding the barracks at the moment, but most of the other platoons are already gone! I managed to reach Second Platoon earlier. They're holding the gatehouse and can try to clear a path for you, but they won't hold for much longer."

Roughly grasping the cube, the prince lifted it and replied, "Yegar, we'll begin moving immediately. How about the other platoons? Surely there has to be other survivors!"

"I can't be sure, sir, but I haven't been able to reach the others. I think only Second and Third are the only ones left. My platoon has just managed to finish off the last undead in our area. We'll be linking up with you as soon as we can. Wai- You there! Who are- "

The voice on the other line went dead. There were no screams or shouts, just silence.

"Yegar! Yegar, are you there?" shouted Stefan, his eyes wide in fear, "Lieutenant, are you there?"

The cube briefly flickered red as a soft, silky voice answered, "I'm afraid the lieutenant can not answer at the moment. He is...how do you say...indisposed."

* * *

RL: If I'm lucky, this chapter would have been a relatively easy read. I hope I managed to make this introduction enjoyable. I'll be working on remaking the next chapters and, assuming no writer's block, another chapter should be coming soon. As usual, please review. Any comments, good or bad, are welcomed.


	2. BookoftheGildedSun: Our Choices Our Sins

RL: Hey everyone, I'm back again with the second chapter. Sorry for taking so long. I was busy getting myself settled back at my university. As usual, I hope you enjoy this chapter and review afterward. At this point, I feel perhaps that a general blood and gore warning is advisable. So be warned. Oh before I forget. If you're interested in a Ragnarok rp, MaverickBuff has created a new one under the title "Ragnarok: Advent of Chaos." Both he and I would be most grateful if you chose to join us.

Marking Key 

"--" indicates scene change

"blank" indicates speech

"_italics_" indicates spell casting

_'italics'_ indicates thoughts

-_italics-_ indicates flashback

--

**Cruel Fate: Book of the Gilded Sun**

**Our Choices. Our Sins.**

_To kill is to be called a murderer._

_To flee is to be called a coward._

_Which sin will you choose?_

_- Guardian's Dilemma_

--

Recap from last chapter:

"Yegar! Yegar, are you there?" shouted Stefan, his eyes wide in fear, "Lieutenant, are you there?"

The cube briefly flickered red as a soft, silky voice answered, "I'm afraid the lieutenant can not answer at the moment. He is...how do you say...indisposed."

--

Pushing the heavy doors shut, Friedrich and Leidipus hurried after their friend as he stormed back inside the ancient church. Neither of them, though, noticed the soil in front of the building shift.

"Damn it! Who are you and what have you done with Yegar?" swore the prince loudly, his hands clutching the cube tightly.

The cube flickered, replying, "It is quite simple really... Oh bother, it seems that I won't have time to explain. One would not have expected zombies to move so quickly. I hope you enjoy undeath."

Stefan was about to demand an explanation when Leidipus interrupted, his face oddly pale. Ruffling its feathers as it perched itself on the hunter's left shoulder, Iryie, Leidipus's falcon, ruffled its feathers irritably. Clearly something wasn't right. Stefan grimaced. Leidipus was an extremely accomplished hunter and considered as one of the best archers in all Rune Midgard. For him to be worried...

"Somethings coming," whispered the hunter, hazel eyes fixated on the church's entrance.

"Huh? What is?" asked Friedrich, his hand straying to his sword.

"Damn, brace the door!" shouted Leidipus to two of the guards standing near the doors.

Turning their heads in surprise, the two swordsmen stared at the hunter in confusion. Brace the door? For what reason? Their question was soon answered as a loud, but dull 'thunk' sound echoed off the stone walls. Something had slammed into the the massive doors with great force, managing to open it a fraction. A fraction only. Not more than an inch, yet that was more than enough. The putrid stench of rotting corpses filtered into the halls within as the ghouls' tortured moans increased in ferocity. The sound of undead slamming their fetid fists into the doors broke the swordsmen out of their reverie.

"Brace door!"

"Grab that pew over there."

Their shouts grew ever more anxious as the pounding increased. Four swordsman braced the door with their bodies as the rest of the guards hurried to reinforce it with pews and random bits of furniture. Yet even as they rushed to further barricade the entrance, the large doors groaned from the stress, small cracks appearing here and there. Throughout this attempt, the number and intensity of the moans grew to the point where it seemed entire armies of undead were beating upon the wooden doors.

Turning to the priest, who had mentioned Glastheim's curse earlier, the prince ordered, "Prep the emergency evacuation."

Nodding, the man took a moment to steady himself before reaching into his robes and pulling out a shiny dark blue gem. Lips moving in silent prayer, the priest grasped the stone tightly, drawing upon divine power to open a warp portal.

"Here me as a I pray. Amen," finished the priest, crushing the surprisingly delicate gem in his gloved hands.

Despite his previous state of near mental collapse and the dire state of their situation, the priest now was the perfect picture of serenity and peace. Slowly squeezing his fist so as to ensure that the gem was completely ground down, he threw it into the air in front of him, smiling expectantly at what was to become their escape path.

Unfortunately for him, escape would not be coming any time soon.

Glowing a brilliant cerulean as they fell through the air, the remnants of the gem began evaporating as magical energies coursed through them. A moment later, an ocean blue, oval shaped portal opened where the powder had been moments earlier.

Sighing with relief, the man turned to the prince and the others, saying, "Your Highness, the way is open. We best-"

The priest never got a chance to finish his sentence.

The smile on his lips faltered as he stared down. The length of a curved, ebony black scythe had impaled him through the abdomen. The curved blade measured at around four to five feet in length. The wooden shaft of the weapon curved gently and sat in the white gloves of its owner. With all the casualness of a farmer reaping wheat, the wielder tore through the impaled priest with nauseating ease.

"Tsk. Tsk. Running isn't befitting for a prince such as you," mockingly scolded the wielder, wagging an index finger.

Though the voice was clearly male, it was soft and gentle like an angel's yet as seductive and silky as an incubus's. His upper torso and arms protruding from the portal, now a sickening mixture of dark crimson and black, the rest of the body slowly emerged, revealing a young man that would not seem older than twenty-five winters, his long hair appearing like spun silver. Impeccably dressed in formal black and crimson robes with elaborately embroidered golden designs, he radiated sophistication and would not have been out of place among the highest nobles. Completely clear of the distortion in space and time that the dying priest had created, the man turned to face the gateway before slashing into it with his scythe, slicing through the magical distortion and destroying it.

Sniffing disdainfully at a few droplets of blood still clinging to the weapon, he said, "Now, I claim your souls."

--

In the past prior to Rune Midgard's accession to power, the halls of Volsug, Prontera's royal castle, were busy with frantic advisers and officials hurrying about the fortress. But since that time, the atmosphere had become rather peaceful and serene with maids gossiping happily and guards chatting with one another as they patrolled. This evening, however, that was all about to change.

"Out of my way! Out of my way!" shouted a man as he hurtled through the halls.

Dressed in the red and white livery of a royal messenger, he nearly collided into a servant holding a tray of desserts in his haste. Eventually, the messenger found himself outside a pair of titanic sized ornate steel doors with a squad of royal knights flanking him.

"M-Message for His Majesty," blurted the man, gasping for breath, "It's urgent! The prince is in trouble."

Exchanging startled looks with one another, the guards nodded before pushing the huge doors open with great effort. Murmuring a word of thanks, the messenger burst into the throne room. Staring at him in surprise were a group of nobles and advisers that had been in conference with the king.

"What is this?" roared one adviser, rising from his seat beside the king, "How dare you inter-"

"Enough," ordered King Tristan II, one hand upraised in a silencing manner, "I clearly stated that I was not to be disturbed."

Despite the slight graying of his hairs and occasional wrinkles, King Tristan II was by no means past his prime. Renowned for his tactical brilliance and martial prowess, he was certainly not to be taken lightly.

Quickly kneeling before his liege and quivering slightly, the man answered, "Y-Y-Your Majesty, I bring grave news. We've just received an emergency communiqué from the Tenth Regiment."

At the name of the regiment, Tristan II froze, staring at the man disbelievingly, "What is it?"

"Majesty, the Tenth has been nearly overrun at Glastheim. Stefan and what remains of his men are trapped inside the main cathedral. Highness, they can't last long," continued the messenger soberly.

"Everyone other than High Wizard Gagnon leave," said Tristan softly, his voice possessing an edge not usually heard.

The nobles and scholars around the king recognized the mood that had taken hold of him. The last time they heard this tone was when he had ordered the total annihilation and slaughter of an Arunfeltzian city. Silently rising to their feet, they bowed and hastily exited, the large steel doors closing behind them. The only one that remained aside from the king was one adviser. Dressed in robes of dark yellow and black, the man was Tristan's chief adviser and current head of the newly reorganized Royal Assassins. Rising to position through careful use of his noble lineage and sheer ruthlessness, he had attained the vaunted and highly sought rank of high wizard. Awe-inspiring as the title was, the man was still only a wizard, albeit possibly the strongest in all of Rune Midgard. The secret arts of the high wizards had been long lost with the fall of Glastheim.

Alone at last, Tristan II turned and addressed his adviser, "What now then Philip? What are our options?"

Inclining his head respectfully, Philip looked thoughtful for a moment before replying, "Your Majesty has asked wise questions. No doubt we must rescue His Highness, but the best method eludes me. One option would be to deploy the Fourth and Sixth Regiments. Another could be to demand assistance from the Church."

"Yes, we could do that," murmured the king, as he gazed intently on the designs of the marble floor, "But we are short on time and the soldiers could never reach there in time. The other option is little better. Our relations between the Sanctuary are already strained. To force their aid would be ill advised. What of your men, Philip? Surely there are enough available to deploy for a rescue."

"Ah..Your Majesty," answered the "high" wizard with a hint of embarrassment, "My ranks have been considerably thinned due to the..eh...operations concerning my predecessor."

"Jonathan still lives?" asked Tristan II, eyebrows furrowed, "Despite all the men you've sent and all the resources you've used, he still lives?"

Falling to his knees and pressing his forehead to the floor tiles, Philip replied, "F-Forgive me, Majesty. My predecessor has been most skilled at countering my e-endeavors. I wi-will redouble my-"

"No," interrupted the king as he stroked his slightly graying beard thoughtfully, "We must rescue Stefan first. Perhaps Jonathan could be of assistance in that matter. Ready a portal to Geffen."

"Y-Yes, Majesty. It will be done," stammered the wizard as he hastily bowed himself out of the room.

As the footsteps of the man faded into silence, Tristan remained on his throne, staring out of ornate stained glass windows as he reminisced about a certain incident of seven years ago.

"Jonathan, old friend, will you help us again after all these years? Have you truly not forgiven us?"

--

_-Seven Years Prior-_

"A mission, Majesty?" asked a blacked clothed teen as he walked through the halls of Castle Volsug beside a much younger Tristan, "What could you and the Council possibly need from me. I am but the humble head of the Sanitation Committee."

Trotting alongside his friend, the king replied sarcastically, "Stop being so modest, Jonathan. If your ego grew any larger, the kingdom wouldn't be able to contain it."

Grinning, the teen gave Tristan a friendly smack on the shoulder. Within minutes, they found themselves outside the twin doors that led to the Council chambers. Giving a brief greeting to the two guards, both waited patiently as the two knights threw themselves at the heavy iron doors, straining to open it wide enough to grant entrance.

Smirking, Jonathan muttered, "Geez, Tristan. Why don't you just remodel the castle and get a smaller door. It's not like you're housing giants or anything."

"Heh. The Council would probably try to dethrone me if I tried that," replied the king jokingly, "You know how they love large, useless, and expensive things."

Sighing loudly, his companion shook his head. As they passed the double doors, the two entered into a vast vaulted chamber that arguably could hold nearly an entire army brigade and was likely worth as much as the entire tax revenue from Geffenia Province. Beautiful, priceless frescoes and ornate, golden chandeliers decorated the ceiling of the room while several elaborate arches led to a large marble balcony. Against the far right wall sat an elaborately crafted golden throne. On both sides of the room was a long marble table, each seating twenty members of the Council. Currently though, the benches were empty as the nobles intermingled and the honor guard, consisting of mainly mages and knights, gossiped. As they approached, the crowds parted respectfully.

Watching Tristan II's companion curiously, one noble, new to the Council, leaned close to his friend and murmured, "Who is that? I don't believe I've seen him around before."

Following his friend's gaze, the other noble flinched imperceptibly, "Ah...that is Chairman Louie. He is the head of the Sanitation Committee. Adrian, the others here say we best stay out of his way."

"Huh? What do you mean, Andre?" grunted Adrian in confusion, "What could he possibly do? He's nothing more than a lowly official. As a matter of fact, why-"

"It is advisable you not finish your question, young councilor," interjected a wizened looking man as he walked past them.

"M-My apologies, Councilor Marcith," stammered the Adrian, inclining his head respectfully, "But I just don't understand why everyone is so frightened of the Chairman."

Pausing in mid step, he turned and drew close to the two nobles, ushering them away from the crowds. Glancing behind himself, Marcith looked back to make sure that the subject in question wasn't within their immediate vicinity. Noting that Jonathan was preoccupied with the king and two other Council members, he turned to face the two.

Speaking in hushed tones, the elder statesman said, "Listen carefully now. It is rumored that Chairman Louie is among the most skilled magic users in the kingdom. That alone should be sufficiently dangerous. From the looks you're giving me, I'm sure you both suspect there is more to him. You are correct of course, bu what I tell you now must never be repeated outside these chambers."

Both young men nodded eagerly.

"The Sanitation Committee," continued the councilor, "Is none other than the wolves of the Crown."

"The Crown?" blurted Adrian in surprise.

Covering his mouth, the young man looked sheepish. His shout drew the attention of nearly everyone within the chambers. Yet it was one particularly annoyed glare that terrified him so. King Tristan II, as if noting the young man's discomfort, cleared his throat loudly and signaled that the Royal Council would come into session. Noting the signal, the knights and royal mages exited the chambers, closing and sealing the doors behind them. A moment later, the doors briefly flashed a pale green as a soundproofing spell was put in place. As each member sat at his appointed position, the king took his place on the throne while Jonathan stood silently before Tristan, the rows of councilors flanking him on both sides. Rising to his feet and making his way beside Jonathan, the head of the Council, Prime Minister Cassius, bowed respectfully to his liege before beginning with the opening rituals.

"On this auspicious day of the 23rd of Aries in the 387 year of Ymir's Grace that the Royal Council is convened under the direction of His Majesty, King Tristan II," intoned the elderly man, "God save the king."

"God save the king," repeated the assembly as the prime minister returned to stand beside Tristan II.

With a sober nod, Tristan said, "Chairman, step forward and hear us."

Quickly kneeling before the king, Jonathan replied, "Your humble servant answers your call, Majesty. What is your will?"

With a brief gesture, the king signaled a page to step forward and pass the roll of parchment that he held to the prime minister. Cassius inclined his head respectfully as he broke the wax seal and unrolled the paper.

Clearing his throat, the old man said, "Faithful servant, hear and obey this edict. Go forth unto the heathen lands of Arunfeltz and locate the great city of Jerical. Once you arrive, your orders are as follows..."

The minister's voice trailed off. Looking to the king in confusion, he gave a look that asked for confirmation. A steely glare gave the elder all the confirmation he needed.

Swallowing, he continued, albeit with a degree of hesitation, "Y-You're orders are to lay waste to the city. No one is to be spared."

The room grew deafeningly silent. The other members of the Council waited patiently, observing the teen before them for any reactions. They did not need to wait long.

"H-Highness," stammered the Sanitation Committee head, "You jest. Surely you cannot expect this of me."

The prime minister was about to deliver a stinging rebuke when the sight of Tristan II rising from his throne silenced him. The king slowly walked over to where Jonathan knelt.

Placing his a hand on his friend's shoulder, he said gently, "Rise, old friend."

Looking into his friend's eyes, Tristan noted the look of confusion and betrayal. Though he had expected this from Jonathan, it hurt him all the same.

"Jonathan," continued the Rune Migardian king, "The Council and I have debated for a long time on whether your mission should or should not be issued."

"Yet?" whispered the wizard, brown eyes locked onto blue ones.

"Yet, there is no option left," sighed Tristan, "We were too arrogant when we began this war. Despite our many successes and victories, you know well enough that this conflict is not going well for us. Our armies have long since exhausted themselves against the Arunfeltzians. Yet all we have managed is a stalemate. For all our efforts, those villages and cities along our borders are suffering. Each day, men, women, and children die in droves from battles and starvation. We need you to end this war, Jonathan. Won't you save them?"

"But Tristan, we **can't** do this," hissed Jonathan, eyes narrowing, "To do such a thing is...more than unconscionable. I cannot-"

"Your men have already agreed," interrupted Tristan II, his voice with a hint of sorrow, "If you don't go, your men will undoubtedly be heading to their deaths. Despite their prowess, Jerical is simply too powerful for them alone."

Though his face remained passive, Jonathan, undoubtedly, was furious despite his best efforts. The king swore he could see the mental cogs turning, weighing the costs and benefits, and slowly but surely reaching a choice that was all but inevitable.

Shaking nearly imperceptibly with barely distress, the teen whispered, "I will do as you command, Majesty. Tell my men to remain in Prontera. I will do this alone."

Bowing stiffly, he turned his back on Tristan, moving silently toward the twin doors.

Pausing for a moment, he looked back, "My soul will not escape this unscathed. I truly pray that yours will. For these deaths will be the sins we bear."

--

-_Several Days Later-_

A young man strode through the halls of Castle Volsug, a black wizard's cloak with silver embroidery flaring out behind him. Aside from the designs on the cloak, the rest of his clothing was a dull matte black. The only other ornament he wore was a small golden winged gothic cross on his collar that marked his rank and importance. Really, there was little notable about him. That is to say, there was little to note other than the blood that covered him from head to toe, his clothes completely saturated with the fluid, staining the floor with each step. Flanking him were a mix of assassins and wizards similarly dressed and a cluster of armored knights that were desperately trying to stop the procession.

"Sir, please halt. The King is busy with-"

"Chairman, you cannot proceed any further."

"Captain, please reconsider what you're doing!"

Despite their imploring tones and variety of attempts to halt the wizard, he kept on moving, eyes filled with an emotion that can be only described as loathing most deep. Within moments, he stood before the massive doors that hid behind it the throne room and a certain person. So close to his goal, Jonathan had changed demeanor,becoming a mask of frigid, bitter ice. Blocking his way, though, was a platoon of heavily armored knights. Upon sighting the seething wizard, they locked shields and drew swords, shifting into a defensive stance.

Brown eyes narrowed at the sight.

"Please leave," whispered Jonathan, noting that likely none were willing to comply.

When not one budged, the wizard sighed ruefully and murmured, "_I walk the paths of sorrow. I defy all the laws of humanity and the world._"

One knight, apparently the leader of the platoon, shouted, "You may not proceed further, captain. Clearly-"

The poor man never finished his sentence. A sphere of crackling lightning had slammed into him, hurling painfully against the sealed gates with such force that everyone nearby could hear all the man's bones break. Flabbergasted at the strangely unexpected, though they really should have seen it coming, the knights watched dumbly as Jonathan weaved a few intricate designs in the air.

"_I am Creation's final incarnation_," chanted the wizard softly, "_Igniva aru uifan._"

A second later, a storm of fire literally blew the mammoth sized doors off their hinges along with the knights, hurling them haphazardly into the room. Walking casually past the twisted and melted metal, Jonathan was greeted to the sight of around one wizard and nineteen mages from the royal family, judging from their distinctive purple cloaks, standing between him and Tristan II.

"Captain Jonathan Louie of the Sanitation Committee, you are ordered to surrender immediately. Otherwise, you will be guilty of treason against the Crown," said one of the wizards boldly.

For a moment, silence reigned. With the exception of the groans of the wounded, no soul made a sound. Finally, Jonathan broke the silence, letting out a soft, soul-curdling laugh.

"Tristan," he commented sadly, ignoring the threat, "Do you know what look a wife gives you when she sees you kill her husband? Do you know what look a baby has as it watches its death come?"

"Silence, traitor!" shouted another wizard in outrage, "It is clear that you have no intention of ending this peacefully. So die!"

With a loud cry, the wizard called for a flurry of flaming bolts. Two foot long arrows of fire flashed into existence as the magic-user channeled magical energy into the air around him, accelerating the molecules till they burst into flames. With quick gesture, the man sent them hurtling toward the Soon after, the others too joined in on the assault, summoning bolts of ice and lightning and sending forth spheres of smouldering flames.

Without thinking, their target traced a symbol with his left hand, muttering, "_Defying the will of seasons, I create. Glacia._"

Even as he spoke the air around him seemed to drop in temperature, frost coating the floor tiles. Just as the spells were about to hit, massive spires of ice burst out of the ground like a sprung trap. Already hidden behind this frozen curtain, the wizard was further concealed as spells collided with the barrier, columns of steam rising from melted ice.

The wizard, however, held back, chanting softly and tracing intricate runes into the air. As smoke and dust began to obscure Jonathan, Tristan's heart faltered momentarily. The last thing he saw before the wizard was hidden was a sad, almost apologetic smile.

"_Falum ohn om diratum_," muttered the wizard as he prepared to complete his spell.

As the last rune flashed into existence around the man, he gestured in the general direction of Jonathan, who now was hidden by the dust and smoke that the other spells had created with their impacts. For a moment, it seemed as if the spell had fizzled. Soon, however, the temperature in the room plummeted, the air becoming biting and frigid. Despite being in a closed room, a strong gust started and soon began increasing in strength. Within seconds, the throne room hosted a localized blizzard. Powerful and chilling gusts whipped around, snow, sleet, and ice, obscuring the sight of everyone in the room till all one saw was white. For a full ten seconds, the storm raged. Safely protected by their magic, the spell casters remained beside the king, smirking smugly as the howling winds began to die down.

Turning to face the king, a wizard said, "Majesty, the traitor has been dealt with. Perhaps you would like to retire to-"

The man stopped in mid sentence as he felt something cold touching his legs. Looking down, he gasped in surprise as ice rapidly crept upward. Unable to comprehend what was happening, he stood still as stone as the frost engulfed him. Staring at the body in shock, Tristan II turned back to where he saw his friend last. Standing amidst a pile of rubble, a lone wizard waited quietly, nineteen frozen mages surrounding him.

"Tristan, I slew over a thousand men. I butchered innocent women and children to save the lives of my own men and this kingdom," said the wizard as he walked toward his friend, his words echoing eerily in the now silent room.

"J-Jonathan," blurted Tristan dumbly, his mind lost for words.

Looking past the graceful arches of the throne room to the lights of the city below, Jonathan continued, "I'm sorry Tristan, but I can't do this again."

Reaching up to his collar, he fiddled with something momentarily before placing it in Tristan's palm. Glancing down to see what it was, Tristan's eyes widened in surprise. It was the golden cross that he had given his friend years ago.

"Like I said. I'm sorry, old friend. May we never cross paths again."

"Wait, Jon-" started the king.

His words died on his tongue. His friend had already vanished.

-_End Flashback-_

--

"Majesty? Majesty, are you alright?" said a voice, shaking Tristan out of his reminiscing, "The gateway to Geffen is ready."

Blinking dumbly for a few seconds as he collected his thoughts, Trisan replied, "Ah...yes. Let us hurry. There is little time to waste."

With a low bow, the king's current high wizard gestured for him to follow.

--

"Porings consume them all," cursed a wizard as he stormed through the halls of one of Geffen's great universities, "Of all the nights they choose to bother us, it's tonight."

A man chuckled softly as he hurried beside the wizard, "I didn't know you liked hanging out with me so much Jon. I should feel honored."

"Damn right, you should," snorted the magic user, "Besides Sam, you owe me for those loans I gave you."

Grinning sheepishly, Sam murmured, "Hehe, I'd hoped you'd forget."

The friendly banter died down as they reached pair of double doors that marked the entrance to the Chancellor's office.

Taking a seat on a nearby bench, Sam said, "You go on in. I'll wait here."

Nodding, Jon knocked several times before speaking.

"Sir, this is Instructor Louie. You had asked for me?"

"Ah, yes. Please come in," came the response.

Waving farewell to his friend, the wizard pushed down on the handle and slid inside, making sure to close it behind him.

Turning to where the chancellor's desk lay, Jon asked, "Chancellor, I apologize if I sound rude, but-"

The wizard halted in mid-sentence when he had seen who was sitting in his superior's chair.

"Hello, old friend," said King Tristan II, "It's been a while."

--

RL: Well, that's it for chapter two. I hope you all enjoyed it. Please review if you have the time. I'm truly grateful for any comments you may make whether it be favorable or unfavorable. Though if you didn't particularly enjoy this chapter, please do tell me why. Thanks


	3. BookoftheGildedSun: Past I left Behind

RL: Hey everyone! Sorry for taking a bit to update. College essays and the like are most annoying really. Hehehe, also, I was distracted for a bit when I heard about iRO's new free Valkyrie server. Suffice to say, I was thoroughly enjoying myself. As usual, if any of you feel up for a Ragnarok Online roleplay, check out the forum thread that MaverickBuff set up. It's called Ragnarok: Advent of Chaos. Any who, I hope you will enjoy this chapter. Please read and review. Every review is most appreciated.

--

FieryFlames: Hehe, if only I had more reviewers like you. Thanks for your review. I really do hope this time my story will turn out more exciting. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to lay out the plot in a feasible and clear manner.

Tom Valor: Thanks for reviewing. As a fan of your writings, I'm very much hoped you liked the previous two chapters.

--

Marking Key 

"--" indicates scene change

"blank" indicates speech

"_italics_" indicates spell casting

_'italics'_ indicates thoughts

-_italics-_ indicates flashback

--

**Cruel Fate: Book of the Gilded Sun**

**The Past I Left Behind.**

_"Sorrow is knowledge._

_ Those that know the most must mourn the deepest._

_ The tree of knowledge is not the tree of life."_

_- Lord Byron_

--

_Earlier that Day_

Jonathan scowled grumpily as he stared at the state of his dormitory, his silver framed glasses sliding a bit. Except for the essential furniture, his room was actually rather sparse with the exception of the heavily laden bookcase sitting in the corner. Normally, the room was nearly spotless. Yet for reasons that now no longer eluded the wizard, it looked now as if a cyclone had ripped through it while he was away at a the daily instructors meetings. To add to the troublesome situation, it seemed that a cluster of female students had gathered outside as well. The source of the problem was sitting happily on a cushion near a low table, wearing a wrinkled, unbuttoned black shirt and equally rumpled white slacks. The blacksmith was humming as he gleefully flipped through a thin paperback book.

"Samuel, you better have a good reason for this," growled the magic user, his brown eyes promising a world of unending pain if the smith didn't provide a believable excuse.

Even as he spoke, the girls outside let out a multitude of various sighs and lovesick sounds. No doubt the well toned, muscular body of the smith was the source of that.

"Oh hey, Jonathan," greeted Samuel in a chipper tone, completely ignoring the implicit threat his friend had made, "You just have take a look at this magazine that I picked up while I was down in Comodo."

Sighing in defeat, the wizard shut the door behind him, a chorus of angry shouts following. Undoing the silver wing shaped clasp that held his black muffler and cloak together, he opened a nearby closet and hung inside, taking a moment to smooth his white shirt. As he shut it, he gave his friend a glare that clearly meant business.

"So why are you here, Sam," said Jonathan, "A direct answer will suffice."

"Aw, Jon. That hurts you know," answered the blacksmith with mocked hurt, "Why wouldn't I visit my dear friend?"

"You ran out of money again," replied the wizard flatly as he sat down opposite Samuel on another cushion.

"Eh," chuckled the smith sheepishly, "You know how it is with me. I met this old lady and her grandson-"

"Save it, Sam," sighed Jonathan, opening a small cabinet that sat nearby, "I figured you did as much."

Pulling out a metal box, he sat it on the table. The lid and the box were rather plain, made of iron and held a black hue. What was strange, though, was that lid was held on neither with clasp or lock. All that visible on it was a carefully engraved seal. Chanting a few words, Jonathan tapped the lid gently. There as a soft "click" and the lid simply slid right off. Inside were stacks of carefully bound bills and bags of coins. Taking three stacks of bills and a small bag of coins, he tossed them over to his friend, who caught them while smiling gratefully at the wizard.

"Thanks, Jon," said the smith as he stowed the money away inside a small backpack that sat beside him,"How much was in there anyways?"

"Hmmm," murmured Jonathan absentmindedly as he resealed the box and placed it back into the cabinet, "There should be about a hundred thousand zeny. The bag contains five zeny coins. Don't waste it this time."

"Yeah. Yeah. Don't worry about me, Jon," answered the smith reassuringly, "So how about a drink?"

"What'll it be this time? Aged Geffenese Silvermoon wine? Morrocan beer?" asked Jonathan, shaking his head in mock disbelief.

"I think a nice beer would go well with the weather. Don't you think?" replied Samuel.

Chuckling, the wizard muttered a few words. With a wave of his hands, two brown bottles appeared on the table out of thin air. Popping the caps, the pair clinked bottles before taking long drink. For several minutes, both sat quietly, enjoying the relative peace of the room.

"You know, Jon," began Samuel cautiously, "I heard that one of Trist's sons is here. Did you know?"

Shifting his gaze to the table, the wizard replied, "Of course, I did."

"Jon.."

"You know, Sam," interrupted Jonathan, "Alexander reminds me of how Elizabeth. Such a quiet and kind student. You'd never guess he was royalty. Not at all like Tristan."

Taking sip from his bottle, the smith let out a sad chuckle, "You'd be surprised, Jon. The day you left, Tristan was..."

"Heh," muttered the wizard, "I can guess. No matter how we feel, what we did was...unforgivable."

--

_Seven Years Earlier_

"Captain," protested an assassin, his body shaking from the intensity of his conviction, "You can't go alone! It would be suicidal!"

"That's right, sir. Take us too!"

"Jonathan, let us fight too!"

"We won't abandon you!"

The target of their pleas shook his head dejectedly as he donned his steel tipped boots. Clothed completely in specially designed matte black robes, layered with enchantments that strengthened and quickened magic, Jonathan took a few seconds to ensure that he had all the needed weapons.

"You know I can't do that," said the teen, without even looking up, "I can't ask you to stain your souls with something like this."

"But-"

"This is my choice," insisted the wizard, his voice firm, "This is my will. Dismissed."

Stung by the curtness of their commander, the men in the room bowed stiffly before exiting. Watching them leave, Jonathan let out a soft sigh.

"Right then, let's end this."

--

A guard let out an earsplitting scream as massive spires of ice tore through the ground, impaling him and several soldiers and ripping them apart. As other soldiers hurried toward the source of the spell, the earth beneath them liquefied, trapping and slowing them to a crawl. Before they had a chance to react, the ground exploded from underneath them, jagged spears of stone bursting forth and skewering them where they stood. Even before their blood had a chance to soak into the earthen spikes, they were joined by more of their comrades. Surveying the carnage with disinterest, a black robed wizard glanced around as he inspected the slaughter. Already, more than a quarter of the city had been razed in less than twenty minutes. Stepping forward to continue his massacre, Jonathan suddenly stopped as he heard a sound of a crying child. With a depressed sigh, the captain moved toward the sound. Huddled in the ruins of a house, a young girl, not older than five summers, was kneeling beside two corpses, a man and a woman. One was green haired knight who had been on the receiving end of several electrical spells, his armor dented and melted. His body lay on top of the other in a protective fashion, as if embracing the other. The brown haired woman was dressed in simple garments of an Arunfeltzian priestess. Her robes were of pale lilac and relatively undamaged unlike her husband's armor. Deep amethyst colored eyes stared up toward the night sky, unseeing and lifeless. Even in death, the pair's hands were intertwined.

"Mommy! Daddy!" cried the girl, her green hair draping and hiding her face.

The plaintive cries of the desperate girl tore at Jonathan, biting deep into him. For a moment, he imagined his own young cousin in that position. Eyes downcast, he shook his head to rid himself of the image. Stepping forward, he knelt down silently beside the girl.

"A-Are you an angel?" asked the girl, tear soaked eyes glancing up wretchedly.

"Shh, that's right. God sent me," lied the wizard softly, pulling her into a gentle hug, "It's alright. They don't feel pain anymore. It's alright."

Despite his words, the girl planted her face into his robes, crying her heart out. For a few seconds, Jonathan knelt there quietly, letting the girl grieve for her parents.

"Do you want to see your mom and dad again?" asked the wizard softly.

Looking up quickly, the girl stared at the spell caster with the innocence and hope that only children had.

"Really? You can bring them back?" asked the girl, her voice filled with vain hope.

Despite the aching heart that plagued him, he replied, "I can take you to them. If you want, of course."

"Yes, take me!"

Rising slowly to his feet, Jonathan traced a symbol in the air. A moment later, a beautiful, shining flower appeared in his hand. Innocent eyes stared at the wondrous plant with amazement. To her, it was the most beautiful flower in the world; it's leaves were like thin sheets of diamond and its stem like delicately spun glass. Leaning toward her, the teen handed it to eager little hands.

"All you have to do, is stare at the flower, close your eyes, make a wish, and smell the flower," instructed the wizard, hiding behind a false smile.

"T-Thank you!" chirped the girl cheerfully as she gazed at the flower, which had begun releasing glittering silvery dust like sparks.

Turning his back, Jonathan clenched his fist momentarily before walking away. Seven steps later, the girl fell to the ground.

As sweet, peaceful, eternal sleep overcame her, she whispered, "Mommy. Daddy."

Those two words did not escape Jonathan's notice. With every step he took, the wizard felt his soul burning from the sins. One day, he was sure, he'd pay for his actions. Still, forward he went. With hellish ease, the teen murdered all that stood before him: incinerating some, electrocuting others, freezing some, and impaling the rest with earth and stone.

In time, he carved a blood soaked path to the great temple that lay at the city's center and highest point. Perched on the roof of the building, Jonathan in blood drenched clothing watched as what remained of the city's soldiers and vengeful citizens swarmed toward him. Cries for his death filtered up to him as did the anguished cries of others.

Glancing up to the darkened heavens above, he whispered, "Forgive me, God, for what I do."

Lifting up his right hand, palm facing the sky, he murmured, "_Trotzen die Gesetze des Mannes, schaffe ich_."

Sparing the city below one last glance, he dropped his hand and whispered, "_Opfer_."

The world exploded into a blistering world of fire and light.

From miles away, shepherds and soldiers alike watched as what seemed like the stars themselves fell from the sky, engulfing the city burning flames with stone melting flames. It seemed that heaven itself had delivered judgment upon city.

Then, the city simply stopped existing.

--

_Present_

Stefan was dripping with sweat as he and several swordsmen and knights withdrew behind their defensive line, archers and hunters supporting them with their missiles. Dropping ungracefully to the ground, the prince uncorked a glass bottle filled with ruby red fluid and doused himself with it. As the potion ran down his body, the wounds that he flowed over began to smoke as the concoction began its work, knitting flesh and muscles back together. Hissing at the stinging pain, Stefan pushed aside his the bangs that covered his eyes to wipe away the sweat, running a free hand through his long blond, spiked hair.

"How? How did this happen?" murmured the weary teen.

Indeed, how had this happened? What had hours earlier been a triumphant victory over a shameful past now was desperate and bleak fight for mere survival. Of the soldiers he brought with him, only a handful were left, numbering no more than thirty. Still, they had managed to hold out so far. Driven from the upper levels of the Grand Cathedral, he and the others had retreated blindly into the bowels of the building, eventually forming a defensible position in the ancient graveyards below.

"Are you alright, Stef?" asked a worried mage, her long pale blue hair partially concealing her worried look.

"I-I'm alright, Eris. Don't worry about me," replied the prince, looking up to his friend, "It's just... How did this happen? Where did we go wrong?"

The sad sight of the normally proud and cheerful now bent over from fatigue and stress left the mage speechless. Eris took a few seconds to try and come up with something encouraging. For several awkward moments, the pair looked at each other quietly. Then, the female teen extended a hand to the young man.

"Come on, Stefan," said Eris, "Get up and let's get out of here. What would your father say if he saw you here, ready to give up?"

With a ghost of a smile, the prince replied, "Heh, you're right. He'd probably smack me for that. Thanks, Eris."

"No, don't worry about," giggled the girl, helping her friend up, "It's al-"

She didn't get a chance to finish as Stefan suddenly drew close and kissed her. For several seconds the pair remained locked together before Stefan eventually retreated and grinned sheepishly at Eris. The girl remained still as stone for a second before blushing a brilliant cherry red. The pair exchanged embarrass glances.

"Eh, sorry about that," began the prince, "I-"

This time, it was he who was interrupted as Eris pulled him in for a quick kiss.

Pulling back, she stared at him with mock seriousness, "Helps on the way, jerk. When we get out of here, you better take me to all the expensive places in Prontera. Got it?"

Smirking, he replied, "Have I ever let you down? Let's finish this."

With a triumphant shout, he charged toward the sea of undead, swordsmen and knights flanking him on both sides.

--

Jonathan was frozen in place as his brain tried to process the situation. There before him sat the man that he'd never thought to see again, flanking him were the old chancellor of the university and a wizard clothed in dark yellow and black. For a moment, the urge to turn and leave fluttered about in his mind. Really, the idea was quite attractive.

Squashing that thought, he said, "What brings you here, Tristan? I thought I made myself clear last time."

"How dare you!" blurted a wizard that stood beside the king, "You-"

"Enough, Gagnon," ordered Tristan, "We did not come here to fight."

Glaring resentfully at the opposing wizard, the royal wizard answered, "As you command, Majesty."

Observing the king and wizard bemusedly, Jonathan said, "So he was my replacement, Tristan. I've been wondering who has been sending assassins after me."

Chuckling derisively, he added, "If you want to kill me, Gagnon, train your men better. Back in my day, even my newest novice could beat your best."

Struggling to control his rage, Philip seethed at the insult. Still, he managed to hold his temper in check.

"My apologies, ex-Chairman. Perhaps you would be so kind as to let them practice on you," said the wizard through clenched teeth.

"Surely you jest. If you could kill me, you would have done so already."

Despite the ensuing silence, the air seemed heavy with hostility. Shifting uncomfortably, the elderly chancellor placed a wrinkled hand on Jonathan's shoulder. The younger wizard glanced at the man.

"Please, Jonathan, hear the king out," said the old wizard, his voice hoarse and soft from age.

Sighing loudly, Jonathan replied, "As you wish, Chancellor. I do this only because of the respect I have for you."

Turning to face the king, the wizard continued, "So what is it you want, Tristan? I know you didn't drop by just for a chat."

With an appreciative nod to the chancellor, Tristan began, "Jonathan, I need your help."

Brown eyes narrowed at the word "help."

As if sensing his former friend's suspicion, Tristan hurriedly added, "It's Stefan. He's trapped in Glastheim. I fear that the worse has happened."

"W-What?" blurted Jonathan in surprise, "What business did he have that accursed place?"

Of all the things he expected, he hadn't seen this coming. Glastheim was well known as one of the most unholy and dangerous places ever discovered for more reasons than one. For anyone to even consider going there, they truly had to be mad.

Remaining silent for a few seconds, he answered, "Stefan and the Tenth were deployed there to survey and cleanse the ruins."

"I know what you want to say," continued Tristan, his tone becoming increasingly desperate, "And you're probably right. The Council and I... thought we could remove the only remaining stain on our kingdom's honor. I know it was my fault. But pleas-"

"That's enough," murmured Jonathan softly, "You don't have to say anymore. I'll save him."

"T-Thank you, Jon," thanked Tristan breathlessly, "I don't know how I can ever repay you."

Observing the king with a contemplative expression, he replied, "You can't. But do this at least, break free from the Council. Save your sons from them."

Inclining his head in curt nod, he turned to leave. Halting just before the door, he looked and added, "Don't look for me again after this, Tristan."

--

Stefan was gasping for breath as he swung his bastard sword again and again, tearing ghouls limb from limb. Stagnant and poisonous blood danced through the air as he blocked a ghoul's attack and quickly sliced off its head in retaliation. Beside him, his friend Friedrich as well as the other swordsmen and knights were equally deadly, tearing through the lifeless corpses with a ferocity born only of desperation. All around, ghouls fell and the ground had becomes soaked and slick with the disgusting ichor leaking from the twice dead bodies. Yet for all their success, they still had suffered heavy casualties. Of all the front line fighters remaining, only ten remained. The others had fallen beneath the relentless tide of undead. Their bowmen suffered greatly as well. Most had long since exhausted their supply of missiles, forcing them into the melee with daggers and knives. Even now, only Leidipus, Eris, and a handful of mages and archers remained to provide support. Even as the last ghoul was brought down, another swarm poured down the already body littered, blood drenched staircases.

"H-Hurry, Eris!" shouted Friedrich as he leaned heavily on his sword, "Form a wall!"

Not even bothering to respond, the mage pushed herself onto weary feet as did the two remaining mages. Chanting in unison, the three hurriedly traced symbols into the air. Pouring their mana into their spells, the mages watched as the air before Friedrich and the others began to waver and become hazy as the air began to heat up. A moment later, the very air itself seemed to combust as jets of flame burst into existence. Yet even as the spells exploded into being, the undead kept marching relentlessly toward. As the first rows stepped into the burning walls, their rotting bodies instantly lit up like a torch. Even before they could take another step, the flames had already consumed most of their muscles, causing them to tumble over, forming a heap of burning bodies.

"Archers, mark your targets!" ordered Leidipus loudly over the roar of the flames.

"Ready! Fire!"

Steel tipped missiles filled the air with whining whistles as they swiftly closed the distance between their marks and themselves. In mere seconds, the arrows hit true, slamming into the heads of the ghouls with a forceful 'thunk.' Even as arrows began filling the air, the walls of fire began flickering weakly as if ready to die. Hurriedly, the mages set about summoning another series of barriers.

As the long distance held back the endless hordes, Stefan and the others fell back to the relative safety of their barricades. Carefully distributing their dwindling supply of potions, they took the relative calm to rest and recuperate. Taking a drink from a water skin, Friedrich passed it to Stefan before dropping wearily to the stone floor.

"Hey, Stef," said the knight in a tired voice, "Did Eris say when our reinforcements were arriving. At the rate we're going, I don't know how much longer we can hold out."

Dousing a deep wound with a healing potion, Stefan replied, "No, she didn't say. All she knows is that help is coming soon. We just have to hold out long enough."

"Long enough?" muttered the knight in disbelief, laughing at the vagueness of the phrase, "By the time help comes, we would have likely killed all the undead in the world."

"In that case, maybe they should be here now," laughed Leidipus as he walked toward them, his bow held loosely in his left hand, "It seems to be over."

Noting the two's confused and incredulous looks, he smirked and gestured toward the direction of their lines. Laying in heaps of rotting and decaying flesh, the ghouls were strewn across the graveyard floor, unmoving and showing any sign of animation. Aside from their stench, the undead were seemingly harmless now. Collapsed on the floor, the mages and archers leaned tiredly on one another, grinning all the same. They had done it. They were...

"Victorious?"

The sound of a male voice shook everyone out of their celebratory mood. Sounds of clapping hands echoed eerily around the burial grounds. A soft laugh chilled the hearts of the soldiers as it drifted through the air. Casually descending down one of the corpse ridden staircases, the scythe wielding man from earlier observed the survivors with an amused expression.

"Not bad. Not bad at all," praised the man mockingly, smoothing out his ancient looking clerical robes of deep crimson and black, "It seems that I may have underestimated you."

"Take him down!" shouted Stefan, eyes wide with fear.

Quick as his reaction was, Stefan really didn't need to issue the order. Even before he completed his sentence, a volley of steel tipped arrows were already in flight, hurtling toward the man.

Raising one delicate eyebrow in disbelief, the man chuckled, "Really, now. Children these days have no manners. A pity."

Nonchalantly lifting a gloved hand, he murmured, "Basilica."

Streaking toward him, the arrows suddenly stopped as if they collided with an invisible wall. For a moment, the air around the man flashed a pale gold. The mages stared at the sight, stunned. What just happened? For a person to be so skilled in barrier spells, this man surely had to be a priest or someone similar. Yet even taking that into account, they hadn't even heard of the spell he used.

"Basilica?" murmured Eris in confusion.

Blinking dumbly for a second, Leidipus quickly recovered and composed himself. Drawing another arrow from his quiver, he glanced at the others and shouted, "Second volley!"

"Tsk. Tsk," chided the corrupt priest, "People are so violent these days. I think I should teach you a lesson."

Growling, Leidipus signaled for the others to fire. Arrows streaked toward the man, each aimed with deadly accuracy. This time the arrows slammed into his body, striking with such force that he literally was shoved off his feet. A moment later, the air around him exploded into all consuming flames as Eris and the two mages poured their mana into the fire walls. Though their foe was now hidden by flames, the mages did not stop chanting, channeling more and more of their energy into the flames, causing them to grow in size and intensity. So hot had it become, that the ground around the flames had already liquefied, glowing a molten reddish orange.

Panting wearily, one mage asked, "D-Did we get him? Is he dead?"

"He has to be," replied the other mage, gasping for breath, "Nothing could survive that. Not even the strongest priest could create a barrier strong enough absorb everything we threw at him."

Sighin in relief, Leidipus turned round and said, "Then let's get of here. I don't want to spend another-"

The hunter stopped in mid-sentence as sounds of sinister laughter filtered through the air. Eyes wide with horror darted toward the burning pyre, unable to believe what was happening. Though the flames were still intensely hot and bright, they could make out a human shaped figure walking toward them through it, seemingly unaffected.

A moment later, the priest stepped out of the walls of fire, showing no signs of injury from either the arrows or magical flames. Indeed, not even a single thread of his clothing was even singed.

With an indignant sigh, he said, "I tried to be polite about this. I really did. Seems that there's little else I can do."

"What? What are you talking about?" shouted Stefan as he tried to reign in the uncontrollable fear that flooded him.

Paying no visible attention to the prince's words, he lifted a gloved hand skyward as if in supplication. For a moment, he was still as stone. Then, he spoke, his voice like that of the Devil's.

"_Defying the will of the Creator, I rend."_

"_Letum."_

--

A ghoul only had a chance to moan before a large axe ripped it apart. Its wielder, dressed in a wrinkled black shirt and unkempt white pants, leaned boredly on it as he surveyed the scene around him. On all sides, bodies lay scattered, those of ghouls and now dead soldiers alike. Looking to his right, he watched as a group of ghouls were suddenly frozen solid and exploded into thousands of tiny shards.

Running a hand through spiked light brown hair, he sighed, "Jon, seems that we got here too late for these guys."

Grimacing as he looked around, his friend replied, "So it appears..."

Shaking his head sadly, Jonathan knelt down and picked up an object laying on the bloodstained ground, a beautiful and delicate wedding ring. Inspecting it, the wizard spotted a name engraved inside. He'd have to return this to the family when he had the chance. Sliding it into a pocket in his beige khaki. Rising to his feet, he adjusted his gold framed glasses.

Glancing back toward the smith, he said, "Let's go. We can't let the Harbinger get away this easily."

--

RL: Hey! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Originally I intended to make this chapter longer, but I got lazy. Please forgive me! Anyways, please review. I'd really like to hear some feedback and I would certainly appreciate it if you did. Until next time, see ya


	4. Book of the Gilded Sun: One Last Gambit

RL: Hey everyone, I'm back again. Hehe, I'm sooo sorry about taking forever to update. I would've uploaded this earlier, but I lost a chunk of this chapter when I was writing it so I had to redo a good deal of it. As usual, I hope you enjoy this chapter and review afterward. Any and all reviews are truly appreciated so please review. At this point, I feel perhaps that a general blood and gore warning is advisable. So be warned. Oh before I forget. If you're interested in a Ragnarok rp, MaverickBuff has created a new one under the title "Ragnarok: Advent of Chaos." Both he and I would be most grateful if you chose to join us.

RL: Ohh almost forgot. If you have any questions or are confused about parts, please feel free to ask. I'd be glad to clarify for you.

Marking Key 

"--" indicates scene change

"blank" indicates speech

"_italics_" indicates spell casting

_'italics'_ indicates thoughts

-_italics-_ indicates flashback

--

FieryFlames: Thanks for always reviewing. Hehe, it's always appreciated. I'm truly glad that you enjoy the story. As for the fate of Stef. and co. you'll just have to wait. ^_^

--

**Cruel Fate: Book of the Gilded Sun**

**One Last Gambit**

_"The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain."_

_-Lord Byron_

--

Recap from last chapter:

Paying no visible attention to the prince's words, he lifted a gloved hand skyward as if in supplication. For a moment, he was still as stone. Then, he spoke, his voice like that of the Devil's.

"_Defying the will of the Creator, I rend."_

"_Letum."_

--

Stefan groaned painfully as he felt struggled to open his eyes. It was a difficult task, to be sure. His body felt battered and abused. His lungs wouldn't have been in more pain had they been hit with multiple battering rams. The sensation of something wet running down the side of his head meant he had suffered several head injuries too. Still, he had succeeded in protecting someone important to him. Embraced protectively by Stefan's arms and body, the young mage had, aside from a few scrapes, escaped relatively unscathed.

Laboring for breath, he managed to ask, "E-Eris, are you okay?"

The magician's emerald green eyes, wet with tears, stared anxiously up at his blood stained face. Despite his injuries, many of which were bleeding profusely, the prince was still smiling, his deep ocean blue eyes glinting with mischief and pride. Raising a delicate hand, she tried to wipe away some of the blood flowing down.

"S-Stefan, I'm fine, but you're hurt!" she replied.

He offered no answer other than a sheepish grin. Struggling to his feet, the prince helped his Eris to her's. Crouched low, they tried to conceal themselves from their assailant while attempting to survey their surroundings. Both expected to see dead and wounded all around them. Indeed, their expectations were both met and exceeded. Low stone walls and rubble which had been used to form makeshift barricades were smashed into tiny pebbles and scattered about. Strewn about the floors were bodies.

"W-What happened here, Eris?" murmured Stefan in disbelief, "What could do this?"

Though having studied the mystical arts for years, his friend could only shake her head in confusion.

"I don't, Stef," replied Eris, "I've seen spells that could totally incinerate or vaporize you, but I've never seen anything this...this...brutal."

How brutal indeed. Though the attack had struck with the force of the strongest wizardry, it had done something that no mage had ever seen before. Instead of simply incinerating or instantly vaporizing the bodies, the spell had literally torn the bodies to shreds and eviscerated them. Heavy steel plates and light leather coats were equally useless against the onslaught. Limbs were rent from bodies had scattered about like hay while their innards and organs had been shredded and strewn across the graveyard like morbid seeds on a field. What made the seen even more vivid and nauseating was the sheer amount of blood coating their surroundings. Headstones were literally painted red with entrails and gore while many plots of earth had become a rusty red after soaking in copious amounts of blood. While the lucky few had survived, they too did not escape totally unscathed. Many were sporting deep gashes, broken bones, lost limbs, or were bleeding tremendously from a multitude of cuts and injuries. Still, they had to count their blessings. That...that monster who had just slaughtered so many was nowhere to been seen. Though he was likely still nearby and was just enjoying the massacre, they had to quickly regroup and escape before the man decided to finish the job.

"H-Highness, are you alright?" asked one nearby swordsman as he desperately attempted to staunch the bleeding from a wound that looked as if a wild beast had torn into his body.

Hurrying over to the man and pulling a flask filled with red liquid, Stefan replied, "Y-Yes, let's hurry and patch you up."

As he and Eris administered healing potions to the swordsman and those nearby, Friedrich with Leidipus in tow rushed to their side. Both, it seemed, had somehow managed to escape with relatively moderate wounds, despite their close proximity to the point of impact.

Helping a swordswoman to her feet, Leidipus said, "Stef, we have to get out of here now. There's no telling when that priest will be back."

"Indeed," agreed Fredrich, his amber eyes darkening at the thought, "We barely survived his first assault."

"How many of us made it?" asked Eris as she bandaged a swordsman's leg.

Looking around, Stefan sighed, "Only a handful. I count only eight with us included."

Just then, a strangled moan caught their attention. Fearing another undead horde, all turned and readied their weapons, expecting to die with this last rush. Yet, none came. Instead, Eris noticed a wounded mage slumped beside a broken headstone, his gnarled staff laying beside him. He had a deep cut running down his face and was leaking blood from his side as if a wild beast had torn into his side. Bleeding profusely, the young teen was staring up listlessly his breathing hard and labored. Hurrying over to her fellow magician, Eris desperately tried to save him.

"Hang in there, Daniel," pleaded Eris as she doused the head injury with a potion, "You'll be better in second."

Struggling to keep in a cough, the other mage chuckled painfully, "Of course I'll be fine. I don't plan on dying until we figure out which of us is the better mage."

Despite his dire condition, the mage still had the audacity to make such a flippant remark. Eris couldn't help but giggle softly. A member of the royal mages, Daniel had been here classmate and partner during their studies in Geffen. Prior to becoming mages, both had debated the merits of a wizard as opposed to those of sage. Their arguments had become legendary amongst the students of Geffen. Strangely though, they were not remembered so much for their eloquence or wit, but rather the sheer amount of destruction both had wreaked on the university grounds.

"That's right, Dan," said Eris, as she began pouring a potion on his head wound, "No dying until we've both agreed that sages are far superior. Now hold still this might burn a bit. Besides, Lia would never forgive you."

Biting back pained groan as the potion ran over his injuries, he joked, "Yeah, Lia would probably resurrect me just to kill me again. You'd think that having an acolyte as a fiance would be pain free."

As the crimson liquid mingled with the scarlet blood, the flesh began to steam and smoke as the potion disinfected the wounds and flesh began knitting itself back together. Satisfied that the mage was healing well, Eris turned her attention the far more severe injury on his side. As she inspected the wound, she was surprised at how badly torn and shredded his side was. A healing potion could heal and mend the head wound, but something far more powerful was needed to repair his torn side. In an attempt to stop the severe bleeding, Eris conjured a small sphere of flame to cauterize the flesh. Seeing what she was about to do, the mage nodded his assent before tearing off a piece of his cloak and placing it between his teeth. Pressing the flame into his side, Eris winced as smoke and the smell of burnt flesh filled the air. Eyes bulging from the pain, Daniel nonetheless was grateful when the wound was successfully sealed. Accepting Eris's helping hand, the mage stumbled slightly as he rose to his feet, using his staff as a makeshift cane.

"I apologize, Highness. My treatment has cost us precious time" apologized the mage, his legs shaking as he tried to regain his footing.

"No, it's alright. We'll need all the help we can get to escape," answered Stefan, "But we must hurry. I can't help but feel that that madman will return soon.

Recovering what little supplies they could from their fallen comrades, the survivors made for the staircase leading to the main cathedral. Stepping past the bodies of dead soldiers and the undead alike, the group struggled to not vomit as the putrid smell of the undead wafted through the air. Puddles and pools of scarlet blood glistened brightly as they reflected the lights of the torches that they were carrying. For what seemed like hours, they navigated the meandering passageways of the cursed city. As they reached the top of the flight of stairs, Friedrich signaled for a stop.

"What wrong, Fried?" asked Leidipus as he took a moment to rest his weary legs.

"I might not be the brightest bulb here," replied the knight, "But doesn't that statue look familiar?"

Perplexed, the hunter followed the knight's eyes to the figure that sat on a small, nearby cleft. Carved from pure white marble, the statue loosely resembled a priest, albeit with far more ornate and ancient looking robes. From its place, it towered over the group. Its hands clasped together and held near its chest. Its eyes shut and face a picture of divine ecstasy. Leidipus stood transfixed as he stared at the figure. Truly, the sculpture was among the most beautiful he had ever laid eyes. Yet, something about it was both eerie and familiar.

Blinking dumbly for a moment, the hunter shook his head side to side as he collected his wits. Looking back to his friend, he answered, "I don't know, Fried. I can't recall seeing one like, but something about it is nagging me."

Frowning, Stefan turned to Eris and Daniel. Gesturing about them, he asked, "Is everything around us normal? Any illusions or something of that sort?"

Exchanging puzzled looks, the two mages closed their eyes as they fell into a trance. For a moment all was silent as a grave, then Daniel spoke up, "It may be that I'm too weak to sense much at the moment, Highness. But, I don't detect any disturbances. How about you Eris?"

Opening her eyes, the female mage stared cautiously at their surroundings.

"I can't sense anything either, Dan," replied Eris, "There's nothing that I can pick up, but something just doesn't feel..... Get down!"

Without giving her friend a chance to respond, the female mage pulled him down with her. Not more than a moment later, the gleaming length of a scythe sliced past, missing them. A swordswoman, who had been supporting Daniel while he was casting, was far less fortunate. Caught flatfooted, she neither had a chance to react or escape as the silver arc slipped in and past her with the precision and speed of a surgeon's scalpel, slicing through harden steel blade and layers of metal plates and leather like a knife through air. For a moment, the guard was still with shock, slowly glancing down to where the scythe had cleaved. A second later, her torso was split in two, the top separating neatly from the rest. As head and chest collapsed on the cool stone floor, stomach and legs wavered and crumpled. Blood sprayed and gushed from the divided body, soaking the ground, while organs and intestines unrolled and draped it.

Before her eyes closed forever, the woman gurgled, "V-Vincent-"

Calmly retracting his arms, the killer casually rested the base of the scythe on the ground. Face smooth, pale, and delicate-looking as porcelain, he was clothed in immaculate robes of sable and crimson. Eyes of the deepest amethyst peered down at them past the long, fine strands of silver hair that hid most of his face. Beautiful in appearance and refined in stature, the man resembled what most might have called an angel. Yet as cooling blood pooled at his feet, he, instead, seemed like a devil from Hell.

"Oh dear, what a mess I have made," said the fallen cleric mockingly, "I must insist that you allow me to clean you all."

"Alice!" shouted the other remaining knight, horrified at the sight of his lover's death, "I'll kill you, you bastard!"

With a great shout, the knight charged the hellish tormentor, sword held high and eyes seething with hatred. As he closed the distance, the dark cleric merely let out a low chuckle before lashing out with his great scythe, wielding it with impossible grace and ease. Despite facing imminent death, the knight did not flee or cry out in terror. No, instead, he charged ever onward, eyes glimmering with rage unquenchable. To him, if death was inevitable then let it come. Though he would accept it, he would also take this creature of damnation with him. Alice would be avenged.

"Like we'd let you kill Sarge!" shouted a male voice all of a sudden.

"Yeah, you'll have to go through Sirus and me first!" answered another.

The scythe was suddenly halted as two long bladed swords locked it between them. At the end of either weapon was a swordsman, gripping his blade tightly. With his scythe immobilized, the dark priest was suddenly left wide open, an opening that the grieving knight didn't miss. Leveling his two handed sword at hip's height, Vincent rushed in from the left and let loose a vicious horizontal slice, intending to split the bastard open like the fiend had done earlier to Alice.

Yet, it seemed that Fortuna was a cruel mistress indeed.

With impossible grace and flexibility, like the wind flowing around a wall, the dark priest twisted himself backwards so that the heavy steel edge whistled barely more than a millimeter over his torso. Grabbing the knight's wrist as it passed, he sent the off-balanced Vincent tumbling to the floor with a sharp jerk. Then snapping back up like a bowstring, he struck. Using his scythe like a handle, he suddenly catapulted himself forward and into one of the two swordsman. Forcing himself against the young man, he roughly shoved a gloved hand against his armored body.

"_Repealing God's edict, I tear-_"

The cleric didn't even finish the incantation when the teen let out a scared shout as he hastily pulled himself away from the priest, not desiring to be blown away by another spell. His partner, believing that the demon's focus was divided, quickly dropped his blade and lunged, hoping to skewer his foe. In what seemed like a repeating cycle by now, the man easily avoided it, twisting and turning so that the blade slid by him with little to no distance between them. Now behind the swordsman, the priest knocked the teen's legs out from under him with a swift kick to the back of his knees. As the swordsman fell backwards, the man shifted into a solid stance, left hand held before him and the right resting open-palmed beside his hip. Lashing out with unseen speed, he slammed his right hand into the back plate of the soldier's armor. There was a brilliant flash of dark light and shadowy wispy smoke. Thrown several meters away, the swordsman lay unmoving on the stone floor and bleeding profusely from a grapefruit sized hole around where his right shoulder blade would've been.

Cracking his knuckles in a matter-of-fact manner, the dark priest chirped, "I did always wonder why champions favored their fists and knuckles. It really is quite fun."

An enraged shout from behind him alerted him to Vincent's return. Pitching himself to the right, he dodged the whistling blade as it sailed past his left arm and embedded itself into the masonry. Smoldering with rage, the knight had just tugged his sword free when he felt something wrap around his body and his sword. Glancing down, he noticed that two lengths of thin, glistening silver chains had enveloped him and his weapon in their embrace. The links of silvery steel trailed several meters and finally ended in the hands of the cleric, carefully wrapped around the gloved hands.

"Still, the scythe was rather enjoyable" added the man thoughtfully, "But, I much prefer chains. I like a little distance."

With an innocent smile, he yanked.

While their assailant was busy with Vincent and the remaining swordsman, Stefan and Eris rushed over to where the fallen swordsman lay. Both did their best to keep the teen alive as they poured the few remaining potions onto his wound. As he was now, the swordsman had lost enormous amounts of blood and death was waiting patiently in the wings, but he still might survive as the potions rapidly knit and regenerated flesh and bone. Yet, a healed body would do him little good if he succumbed to shock before the alchemical liquid had replenished the lost blood.

"Hang on, soldier," said Stefan sternly, squeezing his shoulder painfully, "Don't give up yet. Focus on my voice. The potions can still save you."

Struggling to speak, the swordsman managed to wheeze painfully, "I-I'm sorry, Highness. It s-seems that we have failed you. It seems that I-I will have to take my leave of you. I'm sorry, but I feel so tired..."

His voice trailed off into silence. Formerly brilliant blue eyes dulled like sapphires that lost their luster, staring up into the grieving eyes of Eris and Stefan. Despite all the horrors and gore they had already witnessed, they couldn't help but mourn yet another loss.

Growling softly, the prince spat, "Damn you, you whore-son. I'll kill you!"

Hands darting to his sheathed sword, he would have joined his two guards in combat had not pair of gloved hands stopped him. Turning in surprise, the prince stared bewilderment. Standing beside him, Friedrich was watching as Vincent and his subordinate work in tandem, seemingly driving back the chain-wielding priest for the moment.

"No, Stef," said the knight, "He wouldn't have wanted you to do that. Charging to your death would have meant his death was meaningless no?"

"Then what do you want me to do?" hissed Stefan furiously, "Should I run? Should I flee for my life? Should I let this murderer get away with killing all these good men and women? Should I let him kill those two as well? Is that it? How is that right?"

Stunned by his friend's emotional reply, the knight demurred. Instead, Leidipus, the hunter, answered, "That's not what Fried was trying to say, Stef, and you know it. We all know that we can't win here. This soldier just sacrificed himself while trying to protect us. Just as those two are doing now. They're buying us time to escape, Stef. If we don't survive this, won't their deaths have been in vain?"

"I-I," the prince was a loss for words, his anger and sorrow forming a confusing mix.

"Stef-," whispered Eris softly, emerald green eyes locking onto his own.

"No," murmured the prince quietly, "I understand. Let's hurry then."

Letting out a sigh of relief, Friedrich looked to the injured mage beside him, "Daniel, do you think you can make it? I can carry you if needed."

"I-I think I'll be fine," answered the mage distractedly, "Yes...I think I'll be just fine. Come, we should go."

As they turned to escape, a sudden impact near them cause the survivors to turn in surprise. In a small, self-made crater lay Vincent, his steel plate armor dented in several spots. Groaning softly, the knight forced himself to his feet.

"What manner of beast is he? Fast and agile like the breeze, yet strong and devastating like a whirlwind," said Vincent to himself, breathing heavily and near exhaustion.

Suddenly noticing the group, he exclaimed, "What are you waiting for, Highness? You best flee. Sirus and I will hold him off for as long as we can."

"A-Are you sure?" asked Stefan, watching the knight with concern, "We can-"

"No!" blurted Vincent, "No, sir. You must go. We will remain and fight. This is our duty. Sirus and I still remember our oaths. Go, Highness. If we cannot prevail at least let us fulfill our charge."

With a reluctant nod, Stefan whispered softly, "Thank you for your service, sergeant. I won't forget you or the others."

Flashing the prince a confident smirk, the knight charged back toward the fight with what might just have been the oddest and loudest taunt ever.

"Come get some, you little dog fondler!"

--

Rotting corpses littered the length of one of Glastheim's abandoned corridors, yet more continued trudging mindlessly toward some common goal. Firing their weapons from behind makeshift barriers of already slain undead were five figures clothed in auburn uniforms that had small metal plates to protect the shoulders. Though varying in height, all wore a similar cap akin to the common boy's cap, though their's were trimmed at parts with steel strip, and tattered burgundy scarves that hid the all facial features with the exception of their eyes. Engraved onto their shoulder plates was a stylized leaf with the word "C.R.O.S.S." beneath it. On their caps, Schwarzwald's emblem, a stylized leaf, gleamed in the dim, flickering light of the torches that lit the hallway. While three held back the tide on one side with combined rifle fire, the other two engaged the larger of the two hordes, unleashing a flurry of bullets courtesy of the latest and most destructive developments in firearm technology. One soldier held a large steel multi-barreled gun commonly referred to as the SGG-75 or more simply as the "Soldier's Gatling Gun." This monstrous weapon was a behemoth compared to the petite girl wielding it. It had six barrels revolving around a central shaft and was currently firing a devastating torrent of 20 mm alchemically altered silver bullets. While she continually mowed the oncoming zombies, the other made sure that the weapon was properly supplied with ammunition, occasionally shooting any that got too close with his sidearm.

"Way, how many more are there?" shouted the ammo loader over the din of the gatling gun. Sighting one abomination that had survived the carnage, he took aim with his custom "garrison" revolver. Not even wincing at the loud crack as it fired, the Republic soldier watched the ghoul's decaying skull literally explode in a shower of putrid gore before adding, "If this keeps up, Anita and I will be out of ammo faster than you can say 'ach scheiss.'"

"Without a doubt," replied First Lieutenant Wayland Loewe calmly, leader of Schwarzwald's feared black ops, C.R.O.S.S. Glancing at the horde, he took careful aim with his LB24, also known as the "Long Barrel." A stifled crack and another ghoul collapsed haphazardly to the floor headless. Ejecting the empty casing from his bolt action rifle, the officer methodically slid in another.

"Vielleicht die SGL?" asked a female soldier beside him as she reloaded.

"The prototype grenade launcher?" murmured Wayland, seemingly unfazed at the shift in language, "I forgot we had that. Master Sergeant, tell me you brought the new grenade launcher with you. Please tell me you did, Ryan."

Lying flat on the ground, the third third rifleman of the squad grinned cheekily at his commanding officer, "Jawohl, Kommandant. Of course I remembered it. You know how I like explosives."

Laying aside his shorter barreled carbine, Ryan reached inside a pouch that dangled from his belt, withdrawing a small revolver shaped weapon. Though no larger than the older Inferno and Destroyer models, the new launcher was one of the latest in the "Soldat" or Soldier class weaponry. The culmination of decades of research and testing, these new models were the pinnacle of Schwarzwald technology. Reaching into another pouch, he pulled out two bullets, their tips glistening a dull crimson. Unlike ammunition used for their guns, these shells had been specially designed to deliver a rather nasty surprise.

"Two flare spheres should be enough," murmured the sergeant.

"You sure about that, sir?" asked Anita's partner as he brought down another ghoul, "There are an awful lot of them, Sarge."

"You'll see, Private," chuckled Ryan as he loaded his weapon, "Fire in the hole!"

Hastily taking cover, the others shielded their ears as the soldier took careful aim at one of the two hordes. A second later, he pulled the trigger. With a hushed 'woosh,' the shell was ejected from the launcher, quickly closing the distance between it and the undead. Flying past the heads of the closest ghouls, it collided into the decaying skull of one in the middle of mob with a satisfying crunch. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, all hell broke loose. The ghoul only had a millisecond to moan before chemicals and explosive components of the shell mixed and exploded, eviscerating its head, its body, and everything around it. So strong was the explosion that it caused the bodies and limbs to become deadly projectiles as well, tearing through the bloated zombies in moments. Others that escaped the hail of body parts and bones were not much luckier. Engulfed in alchemical flames, they too died a second death in a matter of seconds, burnt to ashes by the sheer heat of the flames. Without hesitating, the Schwarzwald master sergeant loaded the other shell and turned his weapon toward the remaining horde of shambling monstrosities. Another 'woosh' and within minutes, the other swarm was also reduced either to a bloody mess or a pile of cinders.

With a satisfied grin, Ryan holstered his weapon, bending down to retrieve his carbine. Glancing at Wayland, he said, "Alles klar, Lieutenant."

Surveying the devastation, Wayland only sighed before murmuring, "I swear I'll never understand why you didn't accept that promotion."

Ryan chuckled at Wayland's exasperation as he inspected the now silent hallway. The other members of the squad stared quizzically at the pair, none quite comprehending just what promotion their superiors were talking about. Shaking their heads, the soldiers hurried to give their weapons a quick inspection, ensuring that each was loaded. Anita had slung her gatling gun over shoulder, opting for the lighter "Gatekeeper" model shotgun.

Satisfied that no more undead were within sight, Ryan turned back toward the others. "I don't see any more ghouls, Wayland," he reported dutifully, "From the carnage we saw outside, I'd say they were just stragglers."

Nodding, the lieutenant replied, "That's good for us, but that only means Ms. Adler and her party have already been attacked. We don't have much time. Let's move."

"Jawohl!"

Yet before any could move, a ebony clip on Wayland's collar pulsed yellow. The clip was the latest technological advance in the field of communications. Unable to acquire the magically powered devices that Rune-Midgard and Arunfeltz used, Schwarzwald had originally turned to their sages for assistance, but were rebuffed as those magic users too refused to divulge the secrets of their Art. As a result, the military was forced to develop its own form of communication. Reliant on relatively unproven, if advanced technology, the device was generally reliable, though the quality of the transmissions left much to be desired.

"L-eutenant, t-this is Contro-. C.R.O.S.S. opera- L-on-n, d- you read me?" said a male voice, words garbled by interference.

Pulling the clip closer to his lips, Wayland replied, "Control, this is Lion. We have just successfully infiltrated the area and are about to carry out our search orders."

"Roger, L-on. Remem-er, the S-nator's da-ghter mu-t be save- at all c-sts. Repeat, at all costs," said the voice before falling silent.

"Understood."

---

"Why won't you miserable maggots just die?" hissed a certain murderous cleric, as his two foes managed to dodge his chains once more.

"Only after you!" growled a knight in frustration as he deflected the weighted end of one chain. Despite their best efforts, neither Vincent nor Sirus could get within striking distance. For the better part of ten minutes, the trio had danced Death's waltz. Muscles and bodies were pushed to their limits. Mind and soul were exhausted and weary. Both Pronteran soldiers knew their strength was quickly fading. Yet defying all logic, the priest looked none the worse for wear. His expression showed that he clearly knew the pair were being worn down. The endurance and strength of this ruthless monster both infuriated and terrified Vincent.

As he shifted his stance slightly, the reflection of torchlight on glass caught his attention. Looking beside him where his dead subordinate lay, he saw a slim flask filled with a deep ruby colored liquid. Seeing that his comrade was keeping their assailant busy, Vincent hastily retrieved the potion, his eyes lingering on its contents. The liquid within was one of many stimulants that alchemists had concocted. Designed to enhance combat performance, the tonics were commonplace with one exception, the berserk potion. Brewed from an exotic array of chemicals, it boosted reflexes and movements beyond human limits. But of course, there's no such thing as a free lunch. While commonly referred to as a berserk potion, the liquid had another name too, essence of insanity. While capable of conferring great benefits, the potion had a disturbingly terrifying side effect. Namely, some users were literally driven mad, slaughtering and destroying everything within reach. Though reasons for this vary, generally, alchemists believed mental resolve and strength played some role. Suffice to say, the stimulant was strictly regulated, even most soldiers in the army were unable to obtain it. It would be an understatement to say that Vincent was shocked. Yet there he stood, holding a flask of the potion.

Without a doubt, using it risked eternal madness, but it seemed that there was no other choice. A shout caught his attention. Crumpled on the ground lay Sirus, the cleric standing over him triumphantly, the pointed weights of his chain ready to end the fight. Eyes gleaming with resolve, Vincent clenched the flask tightly as he murmured, "For Alice."

Then, he drank it.

For a moment, he felt no different than he did earlier. A heartbeat later, the potion took effect. Weariness and fatigue faded away. His body and muscles felt stronger than ever. His mind achieved a state of total clarity. Only one thought filled his mind. To kill the demon that took the love of his life.

"Oh? What's this?" chided the priest mockingly as he prepared to crush the swordsman's skull with a weight, "Done already? I had hoped for more of a challen-"

The man didn't get the chance to finish his taunt. One moment, he was standing above Sirus. The next, he was propelled nearly ten meters away, slamming into a wall. Moving at inhuman speeds, Vincent had closed the distance between the two, slamming an armored gauntlet into his gut, tossing the cleric like a rag doll. The man lay still for a moment before rising to his feet. Impossibly, he seemed uninjured by the ferocious assault. Yet what pleased Vincent the most was his look of utter surprise, fleeting though it may have been.

"Well this **is** interesting," chuckled the priest, "Perhaps I may have underestimated you after all."

"Die," murmured Vincent, eyes glazing over as the effects of the stimulant strengthened. Like an arrow, he darted toward the corrupt priest.

Coughing softly, Sirus blinked blearily as he regained his breath and retrieved his sword. Struggling slowly to his feet, he watched as the knight and priest locked weapons. Moving like a leaf in the wind, the cleric dodged each blow, lashing out with his chains when possible. Though slower, Vincent deflected the chains and weights with apparent ease, relentlessly attacking his opponent. Slowly but surely, Sirus noted, the priest was getting worn down. With superior physical strength, Vincent was basically bashing the demonic apparition into submission.

This was their chance to win.

Taking a deep breath, Sirus charged into the fray. Slicing with calculated blows, the swordsman forced the priest to divide his attention between him and Vincent. Chains whipped through the air, while blades parried and slashed or stabbed. For all his superior skill and power, the priest was quickly becoming overwhelmed. His lavender eyes gleamed with a look of increasing frustration and possibly desperation as he lashed out with his chains once more.

Then, Vincent and Sirus saw an opening.

In unison, they shifted their bodies so that the chains shot harmlessly past them before snatching them. Caught off guard, the cleric was unable to respond when both quickly closed the distance between them and him. Quickly wrapping his arms in their cold links, the pair forced him to the ground with two fierce kicks. Dropping his sword, Vincent swiftly drew two long dagger from his belt and embedded them firmly through the chain links and into the stone floor with incredible force. Breathing heavily, the pair took a moment to savor the moment. At last they had him trapped. At last, they could avenge all their comrades. At last-

"Geez. Aaron, why didn't you just blow them up? I mean, you did it earlier."

The new voice came out of no where. Though cheerful and surprisingly whiny and teasing, it was unmistakably male.

"S-Show yourself!" challenged Vincent, eying his surroundings warily. His armored hand tightened on his sword's hilt.

"Oh? I'm right here," whispered the voice, its breath drifting tantalizingly over Vincent's neck.

Eyes wide, the knight quickly turned around, swinging an armored fist at the voice's source. Only to be launched several feet away by a powerful kick. Standing cheerfully beside the chained priest was a man clothed in a hooded cloak of the darkest sable, a thin silver chain hung from his neck. As he moved, the chain and the miniature sword pendant hanging on it jingled merrily. Though most of his face was hidden by his hood, the man's clear sky blue eyes seemed to dance with mirth and joy, a few spikes of blond hair peeking out from beneath it.

Ignoring the Pronteran soldiers, he knelt beside the dark priest. "You know, Aaron. I was so surprised that a high priest like you could lose to those two," teased the man.

"Silence, fool," grumbled Aaron, letting out a soft sigh in annoyance.

"Awww come on, Aary~"

"Shut up, Nicholas."

Exchanging worried glances, Sirus and Vincent watched the pair warily. What in the name of the Abyss was a high priest? Who was this man for that matter?

"Fine. Fine. I'll behave, Aary," grumbled the man, shooting Aaron a dirty look, "Geez.."

"Stop calling me that. Take care of these fools here while I exterminate the remaining pests," said Aaron, while still chained to the ground.

"Right-o, now get going."

Eyes wide, Vincent rushed forward shouting, "Wait? What? Do you think we're going to just let you free that murderer?"

Chuckling softly, Nicholas replied, "Free him? He was never trapped to begin with. Isn't that right, Aary?"

Sighing yet again, the high priest only shook his head in resignation. Looking at the knight, he answered, "Have fun."

Before Vincent could reply, Aaron was suddenly engulfed by what seemed like shadowy mists. One moment he was there. The next, he had vanished. Grinning devilishly, Nicholas took a step forward.

"Pleased to meet you two. Allow me to show you why I was once called the 'Knight of Swords.'"

In a few minutes, the room was painted crimson.

---

"Highness, stand back," urged Daniel, stepping in front of the prince and Eris. Beside him, Leidipus and Friedrich had readied their weapons as well. Having entered into a great hall, the group found a squad of heavily armed raydrics blocking their path.

"Stef, take Eris and run," said Friedrich, dark green eyes glaring determinedly at the empty suits of armor, "We'll hold them. Find a way out."

"No!" shouted the mage and prince in unison, each flushed with anger.

"We won't leave anyone else behind," insisted Eris.

"I won't sacrifice anyone else," added Stefan, "We'll fight them together."

With a grin, Leidipus replied as he drew back an arrow, "That's the good old Stefan we know and love."

"If that's the case," chuckled Friedrich, "Let's crush them!"

With a roar, knight and prince lunged toward the raydrics. Only to be thrown back as the armored suits were engulfed in an explosion. As the smoke cleared, several figures could be seen running toward them. Alarmed, Leidipus aimed at the lead figure.

"Stop!" blurted Eris, "Don't shoot. I recognize those uniforms. They're soldiers from Schwarzwald."

"W-What?" stammered the hunter as lowered his bow, "Reinforcements?"

With joyful whoop, the hunter hurried to help Stefan and Friedrich to their feet. Within moments, the group of soldiers had reached them. Guns of various calibers drawn, the C.R.O.S.S. operatives were overjoyed to see them.

"Miss Adler?" ventured one soldier, dark amber eyes observing them carefully.

"I am. My father sent you, yes?" asked Eris eagerly.

"Yes, miss. I am First Lieutenant Wayland Loewe, head of C.R.O.S.S." replied the man. Looking over to Stefan, he continued, "Prince Stefan, I presume? It is an honor to meet you, Highness. I wish it had been under better circumstances."

Stefan could only nod. Reinforcements had finally arrived. He knew he should have been happy, but the deaths of all his men still weighed heavily on his mind.

"C.R.O.S.S.?" murmured Friedrich in confusion, "I can't say I've ever heard of that."

"It stands for Crisis Rectification Operations Specialists Section," answered one of the soldiers helpfully as he reloaded his grenade launcher.

"Lieutenant," said Stefan, "Do you have a means for our escape."

"Yes, Highness," answered Wayland, "One of our airships is currently circling the area and is waiting for us to arrive at the extraction point."

"Lead the way, then."

"Of course-"

Wayland was interrupted as part of the wall beside him suddenly exploded, spraying him and several of his soldiers with stone shrapnel. Sitting on the railings of the balcony above them was the same murderous priest that had began the slaughter.

"No, it can't be..." murmured Stefan in disbelief. Salvation was so close, yet maybe it had been nothing more than an illusion.

"Yes," hissed Aaron. Though having the appearance and visage of an angel, the high priest seemed more devil than cherub. "Now die!"

With a flick of his hand, the world exploded into a storm of blinding lightning and cutting winds.

-----

Glossary- Hopefully this'll be useful later on.

C.R.O.S.S.- Shortened name for the Crisis Rectification Operations Specialists Section. Also referred to as Section 7, this group is made up of men and women usually of the gunslinger class. Their overall mission is simple. Protect any and all interests of the Schwarzwald Republic. Not officially recognized, this group is on the surface merely a part of the military, but is in truth a black ops group. Lead by First Lieutenant Wayland Loewe and Master Sergeant Ryan Davis, C.R.O.S.S. is feared by all the enemies of the state. Since it's creation, the group has never failed a mission.

-----

Hehe. I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. It sure took a long time to write. Nearly 6000 words I think. Anywho, as always please review. With any luck, I can stop slacking off and work on the next chapter. See you soon~


	5. Book of the Gilded Sun: Live On

RL: I do in fact live! Hehe, I've just been very busy...and...well....very lazy. I'm sorry! Anywho, I've finished this chapter and already have a short flash back chapter almost completed. So look for another update soon~ As always, if you feel up for a RO roleplay, join MaverickBuff and me on the RO forum here labeled "Ragnarok: Advent of Chaos."

Oh, I almost forgot. Be sure to check the glossary at the end for terms with an asterisk by them for clarification. If you have any questions, be sure to ask. Please review after reading, as I always enjoy reading your thoughts on the story. Even if you don't like it all, please review and tell me why. I'm quite eager to understand why and hopefully correct any problems. Also, if you have suggestions, be sure to tell me about them. I'd love to hear from you.

Marking Key 

"--" indicates scene change

"blank" indicates speech

"_italics_" indicates spell casting

_'italics'_ indicates thoughts

-_italics-_ indicates flashback

* - see glossary for details

--

FieryFlames: Yeah, I can imagine. Aaron really is relentless. Both he and Nicholas are my personal favorites as well. Polar opposites, but best of friends. Anywho, no laziness for me. As the saying goes, "no rest for the wicked."

Thunder-Mibbles: Haha. Now. Now. No need to lose your head. All things will be done in good time. ^^

--

**Cruel Fate: Book of the Gilded Sun**

**Live On  
**

_"Do not die in despair._

_Do not surrender._

_Cling to life even when all is lost._

_Live."_

_- Last words of Daniel Malgrave, Mage First Class, Wizard candidate*  
_

_--_

Recap from last chapter:

Wayland was interrupted as part of the wall beside him suddenly exploded, spraying him and several of his soldiers with stone shrapnel. Sitting on the railings of the balcony above them was the same murderous priest that had began the slaughter.

"No, it can't be..." murmured Stefan in disbelief. Salvation was so close, yet maybe it had been nothing more than an illusion.

"Yes," hissed Aaron. Though having the appearance and visage of an angel, the high priest seemed more devil than cherub. "Now die!"

With a flick of his hand, the world exploded into a storm of blinding lightning and cutting winds.

--

Buffeted by shrieking winds, Stefan struggled to remain standing. Wincing as several shallow cuts opened up on his cheek, the prince looked around him in desperation.

"Eris! Daniel!" shouted Stefan vainly, "Friedrich! Lei!"

Crying out their names repeatedly, he only heard the howling winds mournful reply. Looking from side to side, he frantically sought out his friends and comrades, despite nearly being blown away and struck by bolts of lightning. The sound of the thunder was as deafening as the lightning was blinding. Tripping over the uneven and upturned stone tiles, Stefan barely avoided another bolt of electricity as it struck the ground beside him. Trying to rise, he was forced back down by a powerful gust.

"Stef!" shouted a voice. It was very faint in the winds, but Stefan heard it all the same.

"Lei, I'm over here!" shouted Stefan back, hoping that his friend might somehow find him.

Despite the dust that the winds had whipped into a blinding cloud, Stefan noticed movement to his left. Scampering toward him was a familiar hunter. While Stefan had only a few shallow wounds, Leidipus was without a doubt gravely wounded. Parts of his cuirass of hardened leather were either shredded like paper or otherwise dyed a dark vermillion from the blood of several deep wounds. Before he could take another step, the hunter suddenly toppled over.

"H-Hehe," chuckled the hunter cheerfully, despite the severe nature of his injuries, "Glad that I managed to find you."

"Hang on, Lei," sputtered the prince as he searched himself for any remaining potions. Though he couldn't find any flasks that had survived the attack, he managed to scrounge up a few medicinal herbs.

"Hold still," said Stefan as he pressed the dried herbs to one of the more ugly looking injuries. Wincing, Leidipus let out a relieved sigh as the herbs' healing properties began to take effect. While not as powerful as potions derived from them, a variety medicinal herbs were still carried by Pronteran soldiers, using them as a form of emergency treatment. Though not capable of fully healing the hunter, the herb nonetheless stopped the bleeding while accelerating his body's regenerative abilities.

"Thanks, Stefan," murmured Leidipus as he attempted to return to his feet, "But we really need to get out of here. I'm not complaining about surviving, but I thought that spell would kill us immediately."

"Same," agreed the prince, "Let's-"

He was suddenly interrupted as a great force slammed both abruptly into the hard ground. Despite their best efforts, neither managed to even move an inch. It seemed as if the very air itself was trying to crush them. Slowly at first, but increasing quickly, the pressure from the wind grew stronger and stronger. Every bone in their body felt like snapping. The pain was akin to being literally ground into fine powder, bit by bit. Just a little longer and they were sure they'd explode like a melon hit with a sledgehammer.

"D-Damn," Leidipus managed to curse, "This i-is-"

The hunter halted in mid-sentence as intricate spindly golden glyphs flashed into existence beneath him, rapidly spreading before the windstorm hid it from view.

"_Here me Land of Salvation!_" shouted a raised female voice, barely audible through the howling winds, "_Ava gaium pila!_"

The crushing weight of a thousand mountains suddenly lifted, vanishing like dust before a mighty storm. The shrieking winds were reduced to less than a whisper, silenced by one spell. Whereas the mighty wizards and mages of Rune-Midgard had delved into the more destructive depths of magic, the wise sages and their followers of the Schwarzwald Republic followed the opposite path. The fruit of centuries of research and labor, _Magnetic Earth_, also referred to as _Land Protector_, was commonly known as the "Sage's Trump Card." Indeed, its title was well earned. With one spell, a sage could easily reduce the terrifying and vaunted might of wizards to nothing.

Yet, it was a complicated and advanced spell.

So how had Eris used it?

"W-What happened?" stuttered Leidipus in disbelief, "Eris did that right?"

"I-I don't know," mumbled Stefan confused, "It was her voice, b-but she's only a mage!"

As the dust slowly settled, the answer to their question was revealed. Well, somewhat revealed. At the center of the spell circle were Eris and Daniel. Both lay prone on the ground, conscious but drained. Each, though, had a smug grin. Around them, the C.R.O.S.S. operatives had just begun to stir.

"We did it, Eris," wheezed Daniel.

"Yeah, I think we did," mumbled the mage in reply.

Taking advantage of the remaining smokescreen the dust had left behind, Leidipus and Stefan scurried to their side.

"Eris, are you alright?" asked the prince has he gathered her weakened form into his arms, ocean colored eyes stained with concern.

Reaching up tremblingly, she played with his golden hair. "I'm alright," she whispered, "Just a bit tired."

"Of course," mumbled the prince, flushing slightly, "But how did you do that? I've heard that only accomplished sages can pull it off. You're only a sage candidate." *

"True," answered Daniel has Leidipus helped him sit up, "But you see, Eris's candiate thesis was on _Magnetic Earth_. She knows all theory behind it, but lacks only the necessary magical essence to use it. Hence my role in the whole affair, Highness."

"I told you I was smart," teased Eris, pinching Stefan's cheek.

"I hate to bother you, but our commander and your knight friend are heavily wounded," interrupted one of the soldiers, "We have to leave, while the dust still hides us."

"Ah, r-right," said the prince.

Helping Eris to her feet while Leidipus did the same for Daniel, Stefan spotted Friedrich and the C.R.O.S.S. commander. Friedrich had been hurt worse than Stefan had ever seen him before. Eluminum* reinforced plates had been shredded like dry leaves with several obviously deep critical wounds to his sides and legs. The Schwarzwald officer was little better. His uniform had been severely torn, certain portions completely missing, and was bleeding heavily from several head injuries. Signaling for the others to follow, he and Eris stumbled toward what they hoped was the exit.

"Aaron, you're toys are running way~" said a new male voice in a singsong fashion.

"Silence Nichola or I'll hide burn your stash of treats later," growled the cleric from his perch.

"I must applaud your mages, though," continued the now named man, "To think my spell could be defeated by such an....insignificant bunch. But, I think this is now the-"

"Fire!"

Explosions and loud bangs rang out. Despite his injuries, Wayland as well as his subordinates launched an immediate attack. The powerful SGG-75 gatling gun roared to life, spraying hundreds of metal slugs at the newcomer, who had been blocking their retreat.

"What the-" shouted Nicholas as he darted to the right, the torrent of bullets tearing up the stone behind him.

With the way clear, the survivors moved as fast they could toward the doorway, the soldiers following in the rear. As the others fired a last barrage, Wayland and Ryan pulled out several tiny metallic orbs, hurling them at Nicholas and Aaron. The small spheres landed on the floor with a clink and rolled toward them. A moment later, thick white clouds of eye searing smoke poured out from them. Signaling the others to retreat, Ryan let his commander lean on him as they exited. Just before leaving though, the second-in-command stopped. With a most vindictive grin, he pulled out his grenade launcher.

---

Stefan and the others almost glanced back as a powerful explosion shook the ruined walls around them. Running toward them with Wayland on his back, Ryan waved them forward.

"Out of the way!" shouted the man, pointing a stubby looking weapon at them.

Eyes wide, the group did what they were told. A moment later, the wall before them had a particularly large hole in it. Running past them with surprising speed for one so encumbered.

"S-Sir, those aren't standard issued munitions were they?" asked one soldier as the group followed him down a corridor.

"Of course not!" replied Ryan, "I improved them."

The sound of metal armor caught their attention as a squad of raydrics marched to intercept them. With a low growl, the officer pointed and fired several times. It is difficult to describe the resulting mess. The best description would be that little more than shredded bits remained. It was with this sheer insane energy and vigor that Ryan proceeded to literally annihilate any obstacle before them, whether it be monster, beast, or masonry. Unrelentingly, he literally blew a path toward freedom, various grenades and satchel explosives aiding in the process.

In under fifteen minutes, they had traveled from the depths of fortress keep to its grand atrium. Though reduced to crumbling rubble and moldering tapestries, it was still a marvelous sight to behold. Nearly seven centuries ago at the height of Glastheim's imperial glory, this castle, like the rest of the city, was a testament to the awe-inspiring might of the empire. Even now, the artistry and work devoted to that task was readily visible. Though moss covered and heavily chipped, elegant columns reached toward the vaulted ceilings so far above, where remnants of a beautiful painting stretched from one end to another.

It was beneath this fading painting and under the watchful stone eyes of marbled knights, priests, and wizards that they fled. The sounds of their boots echoed through the abandoned chamber. As fast as they could, Stefan and the others ran toward the massive doors.

"Those are huge," murmured Daniel, his breathing a bit heavy, "We may have to blast our way out."

"Master Sergeant," said Wayland as they approached the entryway, "How many charges do we have left?"

"Enough," replied Ryan, eying the massive structures warily, "I hope. Dylan. Anita. Set up the charges."

"Sir."

With careful haste, the pair set about preparing all the explosive charges the group had deployed. Unsurprisingly to them, Ryan had a small wealth of them. Within moments, they were finished. Making sure to keep a safe distance away, the group detonated the explosives. A deafening "boom" rang throughout the atrium, reverberating off the ancient walls. Though hidden behind some rubble, the survivors could still feel the powerful pressure wave that followed soon after. Dust and smoke filled the air, hiding the source of the explosion. A powerful blast it was, but the twin doors still stood. This, however, had been anticipated. What the C.R.O.S.S. operatives hoped, though, was that the charges had managed to punch a large enough hole in them. Picking themselves up, the group rushed into the cloud of settling dust, their hopes high.

While their prayers weren't quite answered fully, a small hole had been blasted through the doors. It just needed a little widening.

"Anita," ordered Wayland, "You know what to do."

Nodding, the soldier picked up her gatling gun and opened fire. Bullet after bullet slammed into ancient stone and steel, slowly but surely tearing them apart. It was, without a doubt, a waste of ammunition, but no other option remained.

"Hmm...Aary said I might find you here~" said an extremely cheerful voice.

Eyes wide, Stefan and the others turned. To their horror, a lanky, black cloaked figure sat atop a statue at the other end of the atrium. Messy blonde spikes of hair peeked out from under his hood. With blue eyes that were as bright as the sunlit heavens and youthful complexion, their enemy looked no older than themselves. Handsome by any standard, he exuded an aura that some might have called "pedo-worthy." Smiling brightly, he behaved almost childlike, waving happily at them.

"Hiya, everyone! I'm Nicholas by the way~" sang the teen as he hopped off his perch.

Walking casually toward them, he continued, "That explosion was awesome! I haven't seen something like that since the days of Verus~"

"V-Verus?" blurted Daniel, staring at him in shock, "Emperor Verus the Mad!"

"Yep, that's the one~"

"But that was over four hundred years ago!" shouted the mage, his hands trembling slightly.

Nicholas stopped in his tracks. Tilting his head as if confused, he murmured, "Really? It only seemed like yesterday~"

"Ah well," muttered the teen with the shrug, "It doesn't really matter. You guys seem really nice and all, but I'm afraid I'll have to kill you know. Aary's orders~"

His smile faltered almost as if he seemed apologetic. With a pained sigh, he brought up a black gloved hand and snapped. The ground shook as the sound of thousands of steel boots echoed throughout the hall. Out of thin air, hundreds of raydrics suddenly appeared, their empty armor gleaming in the moonlight filtering through timeworn stained glass.

"I'm through!" shouted Anna as she turned her weapon on Nicholas, the gun roaring to life yet again.

"My Lady, Highness. Flee while you still can," shouted Friedrich over the noise, "Lieutenant Loewe and his men will escort you out and keep you safe."

"What about you?" asked Stefan quietly, "I don't want to lose you two either."

With a smug grin, Leidipus replied, "We'll pull out after you guys do. Those soldiers from C.R.O.S.S. have more than enough firepower to clear a path for you."

"You promise?"

"We promise."

---

The very ground trembled as the sea of armor poured toward two lonely figures.

"You know you can still escape, Lei," said Friedrich, "You're more than flexible enough."

Chuckling softly, the hunter replied, "Like I would ever leave you. Toss me a blade will you? My bow snapped earlier."

"Again? It was a priceless heirloom, Lei. What would Father say?" chided the knight as he tossed him a long bladed dagger.

"We'll see him soon. I'll ask him then."

"Irresponsible as always, Lei."

"Shut up, Frie. Ready?"

"Let's go brother."

--

Tears were flowing freely down his face, but he didn't care. His two closest friends were dead. He knew their promise was a lie, yet he had clung so desperately to it. He clung to it despite seeing the sad looks they had given him as he escaped. They sacrificed themselves to buy him time.

"Why?" murmured Stefan, quietly as they ran, "Why, Frie? Why, Lei? You promised..."

"S-Stef-" whispered Eris.

"I'll be alright, Eris," answered the prince, taking one last look at the castle, "We'll escape now. I can grieve later."

"Scheiss!" shouted one of the Schwarzwaldic soldiers as he took down another ghoul, "It's like someone is guiding them."

"Ah, how astute of you, maggot," said a painfully familiar voice, "But that little kernel of knowledge won't save you."

Staring down smugly at the ragged band was Aaron. Seated comfortably atop a moss covered arch, he had seemingly been awaiting their arrival, judging from the opened tome in his hand. With a dramatic sigh, he closed the book with a loud "thunk."

"I think this game has gone-"

"Aegis 2, open fire!" shouted Ryan suddenly into the communications clip on his collar, "Run!"

Still shouldering his commander, Ryan suddenly turned round and ran. Confused at the officers sudden outburst, Stefan, Eris, and Daniel nonetheless followed suit when the other soldiers retreated as well. The dark clothed cleric too was perplexed, his confusion showing in a raised eyebrow.

"What-"

His words were drowned out as a hail of steel slammed into the ground all around him, tearing through dirt and stone with ease. Looking skyward for the source of the attack, Stefan spotted a sleek black airship. Schwarzwald was well known for its technological superiority, its massive air fleet as a prime example. Yet this model was unlike any that the prince had seen before. Far smaller than the massive vessels their navy was renowned for, this airship was probably 25 meters in length. In addition, its hull was not wood nor wood bound with steel strips. Rather, this airship was made completely of steel or eluminum, the metal gleaming in the moonlight. Two large rotating blades seemed to keep the airship aloft, though it was likely that the key component of its flight was the all important levi-stone. From the amount of dust and dirt that were being knocked into the night air, it was letting loose some rather large shells. Hovering over the area, the airship launched several burning objects into the air that lit up the surrounding area as bright as day. Its bombardment continued for nearly ten seconds before the hail of steel abruptly ended.

"Is it over-" began Stefan.

His question was answered as the aircraft launched a barrage of tube shaped objects, each shrieking loudly as they raced toward the cloud of dust and smoke. A moment later, several large clouds of flame erupted as the obviously explosive ordinance detonated. As the flames died down and the dust settled, an eerie silence filled the air. While the soldiers looked cheerful and sure of their victory, Stefan and his two surviving friends couldn't help but suspect that Aaron was still very much alive.

They, of course, were right.

Even as Wayland's subordinates let out loud cheers, the airship above suddenly erupted. Eyes wide at the sight, the soldiers stared in disbelief as the craft exploded, metal wreckage raining down all around, each landing with sound of twisting steel.

"I've had enough of these games," hissed an angry voice from the bombarded area, "It was fun at first, but I am more than tired of this farce."

Though startled, the soldiers quickly readied their firearms, pointing it at voice in the dust cloud. That, of course, was pointless. Without warning, overwhelming gusts of wind threw the prince as well as the others into the air like rag dolls, each landing painfully with great force. The screen of dust was abruptly torn down in a fashion reminiscent of how one pushes aside a curtain. Standing before them was a moderately disheveled Aaron. Though his robes were dirtied and torn in some parts, he had seemingly suffered no injuries, despite the sheer amount of steel and explosive ordinance used against him.

"H-He's not human," groaned one soldier as he struggled to point his sidearm at Aaron.

With a disgusted sigh, the black clothed clergyman made a dismissive gesture. The soldier was suddenly thrown against a crumbling wall before suddenly being eviscerated in front of everyone. Blood rained down like a fine mist.

"Dylan!" shouted Anita, swinging her large gatling gun toward Aaron, "I'll kill you!"

Her weapon roared to life. Yet Aaron remained unfazed, even as the bullets closed on him. Before they hit, though, the slugs stopped in midair, hovering no more than a few centimeters away from their target.

Grimacing, he said, "Really, you monkeys never learn."

With a casual twirl of a gloved hand, Aaron somehow caused the bullets to slowly orbit around him as if he were the center of their universe. Then, he pointed at Anita. Without warning, several of his metal worshippers sped toward the shaking soldier even as her comrades had just begun to stir.

"_Rise up! Ilas Avila!_" shouted Daniel unexpectedly.

His hands glowed a faint blue briefly before jagged spires of ice shot out of the ground and raced toward the doomed C.R.O.S.S. operative. It made it just in time. The steel slugs slammed into the icy barrier.

"Ah, I believe you mages call that _Frost Diver_ or something similar," praised Aaron, "I can't say I've seen someone use it like that before."

Without pause, the mage already had completed another spell as bolts of fire rained down and was quickly followed by a storm of icy blades.

Even as he worked another spell, Daniel looked toward Eris and Stefan, "Run, you two! I might not be able to kill him, but he can't chase you while I'm hitting him with my spells."

"No!" cried Stefan, "I'm not leaving another person to die because of me! Either we leave together or we die together!"

"Yes, Daniel," said Eris, her voice on edge, "We lost Lei and Frie already. I don't want to lose you too. Lia wouldn't either!"

With a sad smile, the mage replied, "And I can't bear to watch either of you die. Lia will understand, Eri. She'll-"

There was the sound of shattering ice, a whizzing sound, and several dull "thunks." Daniel suddenly collapsed to the ground, bleeding from at least a dozen large bullet wounds. With a loud cry, Eris and Stefan knelt beside him.

"H-Hold on, Daniel," pleaded Eris, tears welling up once more.

"Don't you dare die on me, Daniel," ordered Stefan with false bravado, "Don't you dare!"

Even mortally wounded, the sad smile never left Daniel's face. Raising a bloodied hand, he shakingly patted Eris's head.

"I-I'm sorry, Eri," apologized the mage, his voice fading, "Please survive and take care of Lia for me. Tell her I'm sorry."

Coughing blood, he struggled to continue. With vanishing strength, he managed to place a trembling hand on Stefan's shoulder.

"Highness_, _Do not die in despair. Do not surrender. Cling to life even when all is lost," gurgled the dying teen, "Live.."

He might have said more, but his voice died and his eyes glazed, staring up to the star studded sky.

---

Watching the sad scene with apathy, Aaron patiently waited, savoring the sorrow and tears. Stepping quietly out of a portal made of dripping shadows and darkness, Nicholas watched beside him.

"Hmm... You killed them, Aary~" commented the blonde, his voice tinged with...grief?

Shaking his head, Aaron murmured, "You're too soft, Nick. What must be done, will be done."

"Let's get this done then?"

"Let's."

Stepping toward the survivors, Aaron had two long chain links hanging from his hands, each bathed in a most unholy darkness. Likewise, Nicholas was holding a massive sword, as long as a man is tall and as wide as a man. Glancing at one another one more time, they focused on their prey, racing toward them, ready to end this whole affair.

"Like hell you are!" shouted a male voice out of nowhere.

"Wha-" blurted Nicholas, before he was suddenly batted into the ground several meters away.

"_In accordance with the Laws, I create_," chanted another, "_Av. Ava. Avalis._"

Fire and lightning rained down on Aaron.

---

Glossary- I wonder if should put this at the beginning....

Wizard Candidate- These would be mages who have passed on the tests and have all the skills required to become a wizard. In game terms, they would've reached the required job level to change class. In story, though, they don't suddenly attain the title of "wizard." Rather, they enroll in further studies like a university student would and generally apprentice themselves to a full fledged wizard. As such, they will in fact have access to wizard level spells, though normally the earlier ones.

Sage Candidate- Basically the same as a wizard candidate only with students seeking to become sages.

Eluminum- A special metal ore that is used to reinforce existing metal armor or used alone to make even stronger pieces.

---

RL: Well, that's the story so far! I'm working out the details for the next chapter already. Until then, though, look forward to short flash back chapter soon. As always, please review~


	6. Book of the Gilded Sun: Salvation

RL: Hey everyone, I'm back again with a new chapter. Sorry for taking so long, but my finals are...unpleasant to say the least. As usual, I hope you enjoy this chapter and review afterward. I really do appreciate them.

If you're interested in a Ragnarok rp, MaverickBuff has created a new one under the title "Ragnarok: Advent of Chaos." Both he and I would be most grateful if you chose to join us.

Oh I almost forgot, I will be seeing if writing slightly shorter chapters will let me update more often. Also, I moved the glossary up. I hope it helps somewhat.

Marking Key 

"--" indicates scene change

"blank" indicates speech

"_italics_" indicates spell casting

_'italics'_ indicates thoughts

-_italics-_ indicates flashback

* - see glossary for details

--

FieryFlames: Hehe. I'm glad that you enjoyed the chapter. I was considering keeping Lei and the others alive... As you can see, I had a change of heart....or did I?

--

**This chapter's glossary:**

Levistone- A stone of unknown origins that has only been discovered around the Republic of Schwarzwald. While its exact properties are unknown, it has been discovered to generate large amounts of power and can even cause levitation. As such, levistones have often served as the heart of an airship, allowing to take flight, with propellers acting more as stabilizing units. Although the exact method is top secret, the Republic has used this precious resource to power its massive fleets of aerial battleships and jealously guards its mines.

Practical Combat Class- One of several required classes for students in Geffen's Magic Academy. After previous wars, it was discovered that mages often suffered the highest casualties in combat largely because of their inability to defend themselves once their escorts were defeated. As such, the leaders of Geffen instituted this program as a method for raising...more durable/ less squishy mages.

--

**Cruel Fate: Book of the Gilded Sun**

**Salvation**

_Hear me, oh Lord._

_Grant unto us salvation._

_Deliver unto us grace divine._

_Bless us, _

_Sanctuary._

_- Incantation of Sanctuary, Book of Archons_

_--_

Recap from last chapter:

"Wha-" blurted Nicholas, before he was suddenly batted into the ground several meters away.

"_In accordance with the Laws, I create_," chanted another, "_Av. Ava. Avalis._"

Fire and lightning rained down on Aaron.

--

The very air seemed to seethe with fury and heat from sheer amount of power the spell had released. Stefan and Eris had to turn away from the blinding scene and shield their eyes. Even from a distance, the two could easily feel the air seething with heat. The ground beneath felt as searing as the noon sands of the Sograt Desert. Though their eyes were shut and gazes averted, they could not escape the light of the powerful spell. It was so insistent and bright that it was almost painful. Abruptly though, the light vanished as something or someone stepped in front, sheltering them.

"You were always like your father, Stef," chuckled a voice, "Your brother was more like your mother. Much less adventurous."

Opening one eye slowly, he ventured a peek at the voice's origin.

"M-Master Xu?!" blurted the prince in surprise.

"Oh, you remember?" teased the smith, his voice tinged with amusement, "And it's Uncle Xu to you!""

"Stef, do you know him?" whispered Eris quietly, observing the man warily, "He doesn't look anything like you"

To be honest, the sage candidate was a bit weary from all these twists. Now out of the blue, two people burst onto the scene with one demanding to be called uncle. Judging from the large axe the man easily swung, extra caution couldn't hurt. There had been far too many surprises already.

"N-No, he was the chief of the Royal Armory when I was younger," managed the startled prince, "But he left after..."

Stefan's voice died as his eyes drifted left of the smith. Clothed in a cloak as dark as sin stood a wizard, his back turned away from them.

"Instructor Louie!" blurted Eris in surprise.

"R-Rice," breathed Stefan in disbelief.

Though the wizard didn't turn toward him, Stefan knew he had the right name. The wizard clearly twitched at the nickname. Samuel snorted at the prince's comment. It had been many years since he heard his friend called that name. But there you had it, Stefan was his father's son. After all, only the current king of Rune-Midgard and his sons ever had the audacity to call Jonathan that. Even Samuel chose discretion on this matter. The last time he had used it, his wizard friend chose to...make the following month **quite** uncomfortable.

Shifting his weapon to block any obvious path to his twin gems, Samuel chuckled nervously, "Well would you look at that Jon? He remembers?"

Leveling a baleful glare at his parasitic friend, the wizard growled, "Cram it or did you forget what happened last time?"

Though Jonathan did not elaborate, the continuing pounding of blinding _Lord of Vermilion_ and the amount of electricity arcing around his hands was threatening enough. At least it was until he put on his electricity resistant clothing. Then without warning, he sighed noisily. Trudging past them, he knelt beside the injured Wayland, who was staring at the older man with an emotion akin to dread.

"And **you**," continued the wizard, "I expected more of you. I'll never understand just what Wàn Yán sees in you."

"Jon," called Samuel, "They're about to break out."

"I see," murmured Jonathan. Looking to Ryan, he said, "It's good to see you too, Ryan. More time for "hellos" would have been nice, but it seems we're short."

Grinning, the Master Sergeant replied, "We'll talk after we make it out. And before you ask, I did have extra transports in case. No need to lecture me."

Shaking his head with mock indignation, Jonathan stood and walked next to Samuel.

"Ryan, could get them out of here?" asked Samuel, "We found a small pocket of Stefan's men left half a kilometer to the east. Jon and I cleared a path for you."

"Right, see you in a bit then," answered the soldier as he helped his superior to his feet, "Let's pull out. Highness and Miss, if you would follow."

"Wait!" protested Eris, "You can't mean to hold them off by yourselves do you? We've already lost so many to-"

"Go," interrupted Samuel, "Jon and I are a little bit different from the others. No offense to them of course."

"Too late," said Jonathan, cursing softly, "Sam take them back now!"

"Shit," grunted Samuel as he forcibly picked the pair up with surprising ease before handing them off to Wayland's men.

Even before he could turn back, a dark cloaked figure burst free from the smoldering ruins and slammed into the smith like a meteor.

"That hurt!" whined his assailant, his voice ever petulant and seemingly on the verge of tears.

Indeed, though the Nicholas had survived the devastating spell, he had not escaped unscathed. Most of the dark hooded cloak was seared off, revealing a mess of golden hair that lent itself to his youthful looks and was practically as unruly as Samuel's own hair. Although he wasn't bleeding, he looked as though a castle had been dropped onto him. With speed that neither Stefan nor the others could follow, he lashed out at Samuel with a simple broadsword. Where he had acquired it, no one knew. Regardless, he slashed and stabbed at the smith with a vengeance.

Yet he couldn't land a single blow.

Nimbly sidestepping the initial attack, he quickly retreated several steps before dropping the pair unceremoniously to the ground and retrieved his axe just in time to meet the next flurry of blows. For once in this long night, Stefan and Eris saw someone on **their** side with the advantage. Though the childish teen was too close for him to use his axe, Samuel skillfully shifted the large axe head to block the attacks while leading Nicholas away from Eris and Stefan and to put some distance between them as well. Catching onto the smith's plan, Nicholas moved to close the growing gap, his sword gleaming in the light of the burning ruins.

With feral smirk, Samuel shifted his grip on the large axe and brought it up in a vertical slash. Cursing loudly, the sword wielder dug his heels into the ground while burying his blade deep into the earth, barely managing to stop his mad dash into the heavy blade. Pressing his advantage, Samuel allowed his weapon to continue its arc, using its momentum to bring back with a forceful horizontal cut. In what seemed like a half hearted attempt to parry the attack, Nicholas brought his blade up, holding its hilt in one hand and grasping the blade in another. Yet rather than putting up a stiff resistance, he allowed the heavy blow to throw him like a rag doll. Flung several meters away, the man landed with catlike grace.

"What is he?" whispered Stefan breathlessly.

"Sir Nicholas Hahner. Lord Knight First Class and former marshal of the Glastheimian Empire's 1st Elite Storm Legion," said Jonathan casually, appearing beside them suddenly, "Now Lucifer's Harbinger of Fire and holder of the title 'Smiling Death.'"

"Lord Knight? But there hasn't been a full fledged lord knight since the fall of... Instructor Louie, how do you know this?" ventured Eris, unable to see how this Academy instructor could possibly come by all this information.

The wizard looked down toward here, his eyes gleaming with an emotion she just couldn't describe. It seemed almost like a mixture of sorrow and weariness.

Yet, he didn't answer. Rather, he turned back to face the ongoing battle before saying, "Stefan, your father is worried about you. Most of your escort has already withdrawn. Please follow Master Sergeant Davis and link up with your men. Go."

"But-"

"Go," repeated the wizard, his voiced hard and brooking no argument. In the dying flames, he briefly seemed older than Stefan knew was possible. "Don't worry, Stef. The idiot and I have no plans to die just yet. There is...far too much left to do."

"I would think otherwise," chuckled a familiar voice.

Turning just in time to block a punch to his chest, Jonathan was nonetheless propelled a good distance before stopping, courtesy of a stone wall, which promptly collapsed on top of him. Staring down at the prince and mage, Aaron stood bloodied with his robes torn and ripped in several spots. Yet his injuries did not make him look any weaker. Rather, he looked even more fearsome if it were possible. like death fresh from a battlefield.

Casually cracking his knuckles, he continued, "Shall we end this farce?"

With a snap of his fingers, a scythe seemed to unravel itself from the darkness before landing gently into his waiting hand. Unlike his previous weapon, this scythe was truly a work of art. Forged from some unholy metal, the ebony shaft was shaped to follow patterns of impossible elegance, drinking in the light around it. The curved blade was only slightly shorter than the shaft and was almost as wide as a man's torso. Whereas the shaft was darker than night, its blade was whiter than the purest snow, but equally as intricately worked as the shaft. Though it should have been extremely heavy and impossible to wield, the cleric held it easily in one hand. Clothed in sable and deep crimson with the full moon behind him, he seemed like an angel of death here to do his duty. It was so very wrong, but it looked ever so right.

How could something of such beauty be so wicked and profane?

"_In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God. Oh divine Whisper, speak with me. Tell me of Creation's path._"

The next few moments were a blur. One moment Aaron stood above them ready to finish the deed. A moment later some invisible force hurled him into the air before what seemed like a storm of Jupitel Lightnings slammed into him, throwing him well out of sight. Bleeding from several cuts to the head, Jonathan stood amidst the ruined wall. The air around him seem distorted, blurred and heavy. What startled the pair, though, was how his eyes had shifted from gentle amber to hardened amethyst. But as quickly as they appeared, the changes vanished, leaving so quickly that Stefan wasn't sure if he had imagined them.

"I-Instructor, are you alright?" asked Eris, hurrying to help him as he trudged over to them.

"I will be fine, but you two must leave," insisted Jonathan, "In this fight, neither man nor beast can prevail. This fight is nearly as old as Creation itself."

"But you and Master Xu held them off just fine!" exclaimed Stefan, "If you can show us how-"

"No," the wizard cut in, "You two could not possibly stand against a high priest. You must believe me when I say you cannot stay."

Gesturing at their surroundings, he continued, "This is their domain now. Not ours."

"But-"

The prince never got a chance to finish. Apparently tired of the delays, Ryan had simply picked the smaller teen up and hoisted him over his shoulder. Looking toward Eris, his eyes promised the same if she wouldn't follow.

She followed.

--

"Sir, Albatross 3 and 4 are finished loading up," shouted a Schwarzwald soldier.

"Good, they're cleared to depart," replied Master Sergeant Ryan Davis as he lay his now unconscious superior on a stretcher. Beside him, Stefan and Eris seated themselves in the cramped compartment. Aside from the four of them, two of Stefan's men lay bleeding from multiple wounds, an acolyte working quickly to seal the most grievous injuries.

Seeing the last of the injured brought onto the transports that Wayland had decided to bring along, Ryan slid to the front of the airship and next to the pilots. Patting one on the shoulder, he called out, "We're good to go. Get us out of here."

"Roger."

The twin propellers roared to life. A soft hum filled the air as the levistone* powering the ship activated. In seconds, the airship pulled away from the ground and the cursed ruins. Flying alongside were two other airships. Three other airships had already left with the remnants of Stefan's soldiers. Watching the scenery vanish, Ryan couldn't help but wonder how the First Lieutenant had known they would be needing this much air power. Initially, he had tried to dissuade Wayland, stating that this many ships would blow their cover. But with so many injured, it seemed that his superior was right in choice. Turning to his two fellow travelers, he watched them staring transfixed at drama playing out beneath them. Though high in the air, they could hear the explosions that rocked the fallen city as well as see the collapsing buildings. Through the moonlight, they spotted human sized creatures dragging themselves from all across the city toward the action, their tortured moans even reaching Stefan and Eris.

"Sir," began one of the pilots, "Aegis 3 and 4 are requesting permission to turn back and engage the ground forces."

Stefan and Eris turned immediately to the C.R.O.S.S. operative.

"Please help them," asked Eris, "You see all those undead heading toward them. They won't be able to escape."

"Yes, please help," pleaded Stefan, "Those two are important to father. Please."

Looking to the acolyte for a moment, he gave her a noncommittal shrug when she looked at him in confusion, stopping in the middle of healing one of Wayland's cuts.

"My cousin's down there?" asked the acolyte slowly.

"Ah...that stings, Mel. Can't you be more gentle," groaned Wayland, regaining consciousness, "And yes, Jon is down there. Gave me a stern lecture too."

Giving him a slight punch, she continued, "If it's Jon, he'll be fine."

"Wait, you look familiar. I'm sure I've seen you before," blurted Eris suddenly, blushing slightly at the looks the others gave her, "You're Melissa from my Practical Combat class* aren't you?"

Grinning, the acolyte replied, "Yep, I'm guessing you met my cousin down there."

"Then surely you would want us to help him," insisted Stefan, "He'll be slaughtered."

To the surprise of the mage and prince, Melissa, Wayland, and Ryan snorted in unison, almost choking on their laughter.

"Jon, die?" laughed Ryan.

Playing with the First Lieutenant's hair, Melissa chuckled, "He's like a cat, but with even more lives."

"Sir, your orders?" repeated the pilot.

"Ah, right. I'm truly sorry, Highness, but our orders were clar. Permission denied," replied Ryan apologetically, "Get us out of here."

"Roger."

--

"Achoo!" sneezed a certain wizard as he dodged a slash intended to take off his head.

"Hehe. You alright there, Jon?" asked Samuel as he gave Nicholas a firm kick to the side, launching him away from his friend.

"Yes, I think Wàn Yán was talking about me again," grumbled the wizard, "I'm not even going to guess where she is."

"Of course you wouldn't. You already knew she was waiting for him on one of those ships," chuckled the smith, smash the heads of several nearby ghouls.

"I still don't see why he's so good," spat Jonathan, incinerating a small horde with a several well aimed fireballs, "I just don't. He's always so nervous when he sees me. If he had more of a spine..."

"Jon," said Samuel, taking the legs off a ghoul with a quick swipe before crushing its skull with the head of another, "**You're** the reason why he's so nervous. Hell, I remember back in Louyang when you blew up one of Mel's suitor's house."

"He wasn't good enough for her!" protested the wizard, impaling several more with earthen spikes, "Besides, I didn't blow up the house. I...merely dropped a candle."

"Yeah, dropped a candle and then used it as an ignition source for several fireballs," teased Samuel, "Oh look, Nicholas is calling up his own minions now."

As the hordes of undead began to thin, the sound of heavy steel clattering on stone filled the air. All around, raydric swordsmen were rushing toward them. Behind them, what seemed like a legion of raydric archers were pulling back their bows.

"Ah, I suppose I should do something," murmured Jonathan absentmindedly.

"Please."

"_Here me. Glacia!_" chanted the wizard as he threw a hand skyward.

Thick walls of ice shot out of the stone all around them, encasing them in four walls of frozen water. A moment later, several loud cracks were heards as hundreds of arrows slammed into the icy barriers. Soon after, the sound of the raydrics beating against the walls followed.

With almost catlike laziness, Jonathan casually pulled his hand toward himself, slowly closing his fingers, "_Shatter._"

Obediently, the walls exploded into thousands of icy shards. They rained down like a glittering hail of diamonds.

"_Shoot._"

The shards halted in mid fall, quivered momentarily, then shot toward the raydrics. All these sharpened icicles sliced into the cursed armors like a hot knife through butter. Hundreds fell as they were shredded, though many still tried to drag themselves toward the pair.

"Hmm...not bad, Jon. A bit sloppy though," mused Samuel as he surveyed the scene.

"Yes, I suspected as much," sighed the wizard, "I'm a bit out of practice. I haven't assassinated anyone for a while now I'll have you know."

"Oh?" murmured the smith as he crushed the helmet of one still moving raydric with his boot, "That's a surprise."

"I su- " began Jonathan, stopping in midsentence, "They're here."

"All of them?" asked Samuel, holding his axe loosely in his right hand.

"No, but enough to equal us," replied Jonathan, a long bladed dagger sliding into his hand.

"_Immersed in Sin, strike!_" shouted a female voice, seemingly coming from all directions.

Out of thin air, hundreds of razor sharp arrows shot toward the pair. Moving in a circular pattern, back to back, Jonathan and Samuel casually deflected the bolts, striking them down with dagger and axe. Though neither suffered a scratch, the shafts continued to rain down on them like rain in a storm.

Then it abruptly stopped.

"Well that was-" Samuel started to say.

He was cut off as a heavily bandaged, green haired teen slammed into him, cutting into him with a pair of katars. Jonathan, likewise, was ambushed as an armored crimson haired youth attempted to gore him with a particularly sharp blade. Barely sidestepping the attack, the wizard was forced on the defensive as the teen quickly pressed his advantage. Despite the relative puniness of his dagger, Jonathan was able to deflect many of the charges, redirecting the force of he onslaught. Even as he fought to defend himself, he noted the armor the teen wore. It was surprisingly new and bore the emblem of Prontera's Chivalry.

'_A new one?_' mused Jonathan to himself.

Spotting an opening, Jonathan acted. Surprising his assailant, he allowed the last attack to graze his cheek slightly as he grasped tightly the young man's right arm with his own and pulled sharply, forcing him toward the wizard. Meanwhile, his left leg snaked behind the teen's right knee and Jonathan's left arm slid under his arm and pushed. Knocked off balance, the teen shouted in pain as the wizard gave a quick, forceful jerk and twist with his right arm. A loud snap was heard as the youth's arms dislocated. Not satisfied, Jonathan used his distraction to plant a solid kick on him, sending him skidding away. Landing painfully, the knight howled as he nursed his injured arm, glaring balefully at the advancing wizard, a sphere of electricity gathering in a gloved hand. He cursed as his vision began to fade and his body felt weighted with lead. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't force his body to move.

"D-Damn," cursed the knight softly.

Yet to his delight, he saw the wizard forced back as a huntress drove him off with a barrage of arrows. Hurriedly, he blocked off much of the area with walls of ice, effectively cutting him off from the battle. Satisfied, she hurried over to his side.

"Thanks, Alisa," he managed before fainting.

"No problem, Gregory," whispered the huntress.

Sensing a presence behind her, she jerked her head back only to see it was Aaron, who knelt beside her.

"Sir, I'm going to withdraw with Gregory," said Alisa.

"Go," answered Aaron with a nod, "Eva and Alina are almost here."

Muttering her thanks, the huntress faded into the darkness in much the way a shadow does.

Further away, Samuel fared quite well after the initial attack. Though he bled from several cuts, the thin sheets of eluminum he had sewn into his shirt had absorbed much of the damage. Still, he was having difficulty retaliating as the green haired teen before him darted back and forth, pressing him from all sides with his weapons. His trouble, though, wasn't much of a surprise to Samuel as he could tell, from the youth's garb and equipment, that he was an assassin. Like a serpent, the teen struck fast and hard, dodging the few attacks he managed.

Feeling a bit sluggish, Samuel grimaced. "Poison," growled the smith, "Should've known."

Though his face was hidden beneath a mask of bandages, Samuel could have sensed his smugness half the world away. Clearly, he thought he had the upper hand. Samuel, though, had other thoughts.

Swatting him away with the broad of his axe, Samuel took the brief respite and began chanting.

"_And the Lord said, 'Let there be Light.' Here me, oh Flame of Origins, feel with me. Show me Creation's final form._"

Startled at the smith's chanting, the assassin had tried to close in and finish him off, but was thrown back as the air burst into indescribably hot flames. So hot were they that the very ground melted as the burning tongues brushed across it. Bursting from the inferno, Samuel literally bodyslammed the teen. The weight alone would have meant little, but the pain of being burnt alive was excrutiating. Throwing aside any semblance of control, he screamed.

Samuel grabbed the tortured youth and threw him into a wall, which soon melted from the heat. Feebily, the young man struggled to retreat, but to no avail. Darting in like a falcon, Samuel cut into him with his red hot axe, the burning blade searing into the teen's flesh. Desperately, he tried to blend into the night, attempting to cloak and retreat. Yet, when it seemed that he had suceeded, a sphere of bright flames forced him into sight.

"Appreciated, Jon," thanked Samuel as his friend closed in for the kill, chanting the spell of _Sight_.

"You stay away from my, apprentice!" growled a low voice.

Bursting from the shadows, a lean feminine figure slipped between his two executioners. A moment later, an explosion of force threw the pair in opposite directions. Slipping beside him, the woman uncorked a vial filled with a soothing mixture over him.

"You should have waited," stated the lady.

"I-I'm sorry, Master," apologized the assassin.

"Never mind that. You did your job well enough, Hashim," sighed the other, "Ariadne, bring him back with others. Aaron, the others, and I need to finish our game."

Slipping out of the shadows, an atheletic blond knelt beside her compatriot. Struggling briefly with his weight, she nonetheless managed to lift him and quickly retreated from the area.

--

"I hate assassin crosses."

Rubbing his head painfully, Samuel grumbled softly as he forced himself to his feet. Looking to where his friend had landed, he spotted Jonathan cursing similarly. They had done their job and more already. Judging from the number of new opponents, it seemed that they had overstayed their welcome. From the look Jonathan had, he was of the same thought. Catching his friend's signal, he nodded and withdrew a crystalized butterfly wing.

Crushing it, he vanished in a pillar of light.

As the saying goes, "Live to fight another day."

--

"Aary, the Guardians ran away," said Nicholas as he walked beside the fallen high priest.

Grimacing as nearby building collapsed from the damage it suffered, Aaron replied, "So it seems. They accomplished what they came to do and more."

"Aaron," greeted the female assassin cross, "I take they left?"

Nodding, the high priest said, "How is Hashim and Gregory, Alina? They were badly injured when I last checked."

"They'll live thanks to the healing you gave them," answered Alina, pushing back some stray strands of long chocolate brown hair, "We can't let them get away with this, Aaron."

"Of course not, Ali~ They were big meanies," pouted the childish lord knight, puffing his cheeks to exaggerate his looks, "Besides, Aary and I have something in store for them."

Stifling the urge to laugh from Aaron's look of resignation, she nodded, "I'll leave it to Aaron. He was always the smart one."

Nodding sagely, Nicholas abruptly caught her hidden message.

"H-Hey! What do you mean he was always the smart one? I'm smart too!"

The assassin cross only laughed as she took to the rooftops of the ruined buildings.

--

"Sir," said the pilot, "We're arriving at Geffen. I've been told that the authorities were notified and have instructed us to land at the Academy's main courtyard."

"Do it," answered Ryan in place of Wayland, who was happily chatting with his friend of the female persuasion.

"Roger."

Beside them, Stefan and Eris had slipped into sleep, intertwined peacefully on a stretcher. Smiling softly, Ryan nonetheless let out a heavy sigh. The sun was beginning to rise over the horizon, its first rays lighting up the moat that surrounded the City of the Magi. The sight was truly beautiful.

'_The Harbingers aren't going to stay quiet after this,_' thought the sergeant, '_I hope Jon and the others hid those Seals well._'

"Sir, we'll be touching down in ten."

Nodding, he informed Melissa and Wayland before bracing himself for the landing. There was soft bump as the airship landed. Around them, several other airships had followed suit, their propellers slowing down and their crew handing off the injured to the hands of waiting priests and acolytes. Stepping off the ship, Ryan took a moment to stretch his arms and legs. With a groan, he looked at his surroundings and grinned when he saw the clusters of curious students, who had gathered.

Then his smile faltered as he caught sight of one particularly angry wizard.

"Léi Wàn Yán! You better have a good reason for being on there!" shouted Jonathan, his amber eyes promising a world of hurt for one particular first lieutenant.

---

RL: Ah, thanks for reading everyone. As always, I hope you would review even if you don't have much to say as I really do appreciate every comment I get. Again, I apologize for the delay, but university work comes first. I hope you understand. If its any comfort, the next chapter is almost done. I just need to finish up the last quarter and review it. Until next time, see you~


	7. Dive into the Past: Part 1

RL: Hey everyone, I'm back after a long while. Hehe I don't have a good excuse this time for the delay. Forgive me! .

Anywho, let's get back on track. This chapter is a flashback chapter and is only part 1 of 2. I had to split it up in order to post something up at all. Also, please take note of the marking below. Italics will be used to note any **shift in a character's language**.

As usual, please feel free to review after reading. Whether compliment, suggestion, or complaint, I really do appreciate them as I hope to improve my writing as well.

If you're interested in a Ragnarok rp, MaverickBuff has created a new one under the title "Ragnarok: Advent of Chaos." Both he and I would be most grateful if you chose to join us. Which reminds me, I really do need to post there…. XD.

Marking Key 

"--" indicates scene change

"blank" indicates speech

"_italics_" indicates spell casting/ language shift

_'italics'_ indicates thoughts

-_italics-_ indicates flashback

* - see glossary for details

--

Thunder-mibbles: Hehe. I was thinking about it, but I changed my mind.

--

**This chapter's glossary:**

Gwailo- Derogatory term used to refer to whites. I use this add..er...flavor to Jonathan's speech.

Gege- Normally refers to an older brother, but can also be an informal way to address an older cousin.

Talismans- Strips of paper with various designs or words. In the story, I use these as substitutes for spell scrolls and other magical aids like staves. Hope you don't mind too much. ^_^

**--**

**Cruel Fate: Book of the Golden Sun**

**Dive into the Past: Part 1**

"_Oh dear God, not him!_"

_- Wayland Loewe, First Lieutenant of Schwarzwald and Commandant of C.R.O.S.S._

_---_

_3 Years Ago_

"Captain, we are arriving at the designated point," informed a man, turning to his superior for instructions.

"Understood," replied the far older man. Dressed in the immaculate white of Schwarzwald's naval forces, he nonetheless bore the look of a grizzled veteran.

"Inform Lieutenant Loewe that we've gone as far as we can. Any further and we'll be violating the treaty," continued the officer, looking through the many windows of the bridge down at the deep blue oceans below.

"Aye, sir."

The captain breathed a sigh of relief as the ship came to a rest. Rubbing his weary eyes, he lounged against a railing as he watched his sailors. Traveling many days and nights, he and his men had crossed the vast expanse of ocean that separated Schwarzwald from the Orient. To be blunt, horrendous stormy weather had nearly resulted in their untimely demise. Yet somehow, they had managed to push forward. Their destination was Louyang. Capital of the vast Louyanese Empire, the city was said to be of unimaginable grandeur and beauty. Indeed, the Louyang was a popular topic for the songs and tales of bards, expounding the city's legendary splendor and mystery. Matters weren't helped with foreigners all but forbidden from entering the imperial capital.

--

"Aeltier, this is Hotel Two-Niner," said a pilot over the intercom, "We'll be touching down in fifty."

"Understood, Hotel Two-Niner," answered a voice, crackling slightly, "Orders are to return after your passengers disembark."

"Roger."

A medium sized transport airship cut through the air quickly as it neared its final destination. Unable to land within the magically protected city, the craft was about to land on the plains outside of it. Hovering momentarily, it descended, sending dust and dirt flying as the airship touched down. A moment later, a hatch slid open and a certain unlucky lieutenant was forced out unceremoniously.

"B-But Melissa," protested a uniformed youth, "Can't I just wait on the boat until the dinner?"

"No!" growled a silver haired acolyte as she casually exited the craft, "My cousin shouldn't arrive until the festival tonight. So you've got nothing to worry about. Besides, I want you to meet my brother!"

With a reluctant sigh, the Schwarzwald soldier resigned himself to his fate and nodded. With a loud squeal, Melissa clapped her hands happily. Blinded momentarily by the sunlight, Wayland nonetheless felt lost for breath when he managed a glimpse of the sight before him. While the Schwarzwaldic capital of Yuno was impressive in it's own right, Louyang easily matched it. Though they had not yet entered the city itself, the massive walls that protected the city were breathtaking in their own right. Soaring high above the port and nearby plains, the barriers seemed to reach for the heaven itself.

"Wayland," whispered Melissa, nudging the officer gently, "Our guide is here."

"O-Oh, right!" blurted Wayland as he came to his senses.

Waiting patiently for them, a middle aged man dressed in simple robes of blue and gray watched the two with mild amusement. Seeing that he had their attention at last, he bowed low, saying, "_Greetings, young mistress. Your esteemed brother apologizes for not meeting you himself, but he is busy with other matters and sent me ahead._"

"_Ah, don't worry about it. Knowing my brother, he is probably taking another nap_," answered Melissa in Louyanese, chuckling softly. Although guessing randomly, the look on the servant's face only confirmed her guess.

"_Mistress_," began the servant again, "_Would this 'gwailo*' be the person your honored cousin spoke of?_"

Though Wayland hadn't yet mastered the language, he was fairly certain that the man was talking about him...negatively. Melissa's loud sigh a moment later reinforced that impression.

"Geez...gege*," groaned the acolyte.

"_H-Hello. My n-name is Wayland_," interrupted the lieutenant, carefully selecting words from his limited Louyanese vocabulary, "_I re-represent the Schwarzwald Republic_."

"_Greetings, honored guest_," replied the servant dutifully, "_It is wonderful to see that you have taken time to study our language somewhat. I pray that you forgive me for not speaking in yours. Please, follow me. Your litters are ready._"

Trailing their guide, the pair didn't have to walk far until they found two palanquins waiting for them. Giving Melissa a hesitant look, Wayland nonetheless took a seat on the litter, albeit gingerly lowering himself. A moment later, the covered chair was suddenly hoisted up, giving him a mild scare, as the servants began the trip back to the estate.

Grasping the armrests nervously, the officer murmured something to himself before staring out one of the windows.

--

Wayland hadn't realized that he had dozed off during the trip until a certain person poked him rather painfully in the ribs.

"Ne. Ne. Way-Way, you awake?" inquired the curious acolyte as she continued prodding him.

"Ugh... Ow. Ow! I'm awake! I'm awake!" shouted the soldier, finally roused from his sleepy stupor.

"Come on. We're here!" said Melissa excitedly, "I'm gonna show you around, but first, we need to visit my brother. Now remember, it's Léi not Louie. Louie is a mistranslation."

"You're sure **he** isn't here?" asked Wayland skeptically.

"Aww. You don't have to be afraid of Wén-gege," laughed his girlfriend, the sunlight dancing happily among her silver hair, "Besides, I'm sure he'll approve once we tell him."

"Yeah... If he doesn't kill me first," murmured Wayland, partly to himself.

"Huh?"

"No. Nothing at all."

"Then let's go!" shouted Melissa gleefully, grasping the lieutenant's hand.

The poor youth didn't even register what was happening when she ran off with him in tow. To bystanders and other servants, it was like a leaf in a typhoon. As she trampled her way through, Wayland managed to collect his wits and observe his surroundings. Even after several seconds, he couldn't quite find the right words to describe it. The estate grounds extended beyond what he could see. The interior lacked the over the top opulence prominent in wealthy households of Schwarzwald. Yet, at the same time, it radiated wealth and prestige. As they navigated the various complexes, Wayland noticed that the grounds were bustling with activity. Servants hurried from one building to another, carrying various loads of food and other items.

"Oh, right. They're preparing for Mel's birthday," thought the Schwarzwald officer to himself.

"Here we are!" exclaimed Melissa, suddenly halting.

"Where are we exactly?" probed the officer tentatively.

"This is where we manage the clan's affairs," explained a robed scribe, coming forward to greet them. Though clearly Louyanese, he didn't have a strong accent at all.

"Eh? Excuse me, but who are you?" asked Wayland politely.

Bowing briefly, the scribe replied, "A thousand pardons, honored guest. I am one of Wàn Yán's brother's aides. Please, call me Ren."

"Oh, you mean Melissa. It's nice to meet you," said the C.R.O.S.S. commander, extending his hand.

Shaking hands with him, Ren continued, "Likewise. Forgive me for asking, but what business might you have here? Our records show no appointment with her brother."

"Oh!" chimed in the acolyte, "I wanted to introduce him to Xiě-gege."

"Ah..." mumbled the aide, "Perhaps you might want to delay that, young mistress. If he is your... What's the word? Boyfriend?"

"Why?" inquired the girl, curious why the older man seemed to grow increasingly nervous.

Rather than answering aloud, Ren leaned in close and whispered it to her. Wayland, meanwhile, noticed how still the large room had become. The dozens of scribes and other workers had suddenly halted, regardless of what they were doing before. Each was staring intently at the trio.

"Don't worry about it, Ren!" shouted Wàn Yán, struggling to stifle a laugh, "Wén-gege won't hurt him. He only attacked him last time because he thought Way-Way was trying to hurt me. I'm sure he'll be happy to-"

Before the young lady even finished, the other occupants of the room abruptly dropped whatever they were doing and made a beeline for the exits. Within in seconds, the massive room was completely devoid of life other than the three. Papers lay scattered on desks. Scrolls were left on the floor haphazardly. It was, perhaps, the best organized and quickest flight for safety that Wayland ever seen.

"I-Is it that bad?" probed the officer tentatively.

Ren only sighed and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder before saying, "Good luck. Please watch over us in the afterlife."

With that, even he fled.

Yet, somehow, Melissa was unphased by all that. Scowling slightly, she grabbed her companion and pulled him along, mumbling, "Stupid bookworms..."

Making their way through the complex, the pair failed to encounter any sign of life. It was as if every person had suddenly vanished into thin air. While his girlfriend seemed unaffected, Wayland, in contrast, grew increasingly nervous. Though he wasn't sure what Jonathan did exactly, he was certain that the wizard had at one time held a position inside the dreaded Sanitation Committee. As such, why should he be afraid of Melissa's older cousin?

'_Because they somehow wiped out an entire city single-handedly_,' thought the commander to himself.

As they approached a closed sliding door panel, a particularly agitated and familiar voice stopped them.

"What do you mean you called off my orders, Xiě Yìng?" shouted the first voice in Western.

A softer, more bored voice mumbled something inaudible to the two outside. Yet, it seemed to only infuriate the first voice even more.

"So what if he's the Minister of Foreign Affairs? I don't see why I can't have him assassinated or at least beaten up! After the war between the Empire and Schwarzwald, which he almost screwed up, he goes and allows one of their envoys to come and attend Wàn's birthday celebration! Maybe I'll turn the envoy into a rat or something" railed the first voice, "Huh? What? Oh..."

Melissa and Wayland remained motionless as the voice faded to silence. Exchanging looks, they were about to make an attempt at freedom when the voice called out to them.

"Wàn, I can see you and your guest through the screen," said the male voice pointedly, his tone wavering on almost seeming amused.

Cursing loudly and colorfully, the acolyte trudged to the paper screens and slid them open. Sitting comfortably on excellently carved wooden chairs, two young men, Melissa's elder cousin and brother, stared expectantly at them. Jonathan was clothed in traditional robes of black with dark blue trim. Xiě wore robes of green with yellow trim.

"Welcome back, Wàn," greeted her brother, sitting to pour her a cup of tea. As he moved, his long silver hair shifted. With an annoyed sigh, he flicked it aside.

"Yes, it is good to see you," agreed her cousin, scratching the belly of a tiny purring baby leopard. The meowing sound of the feline briefly brought a smile to his face, but it soon vanished when he noticed another standing behind his younger cousin.

"Judging by his clothes, I'll wager you've brought that foreign envoy here as well," sighed the wizard, "Come on out. Let's see-"

Jonathan's voice faded to silence. When Melissa opened the door, Wayland, in a desperate ploy to remain unseen, attempted to hide behind his girlfriend. Sadly for him, he was a bit taller and bigger than the slender Louyanese girl. Though he had no illusions about his futile plan succeeding, he was nonetheless loathe to emerge from his cover. Still, when Melissa's cousin called him, Wayland had little choice but to gather his courage and face the wrathful creature that was her older cousin.

That was when all hell broke loose.

"A-A-Ah...It's you, _gwailo_," hissed the older man.

Sensing that her cousin, for once, was at a loss for words, Melissa quickly spoke up. Pulling Wayland closer to herself, she said, "Xiě-gege, this is Second Lieutenant Wayland Loewe. He's representing the Republic here tonight. Wén-gege already met him in Prontera."

Eying his older cousin warily, he continued, "Ah...yes. I can tell. N-Now why don't you-"

"What is the _gwailo_ doing here, Wàn," growled Jonathan, "I know you too well to think that's all you had to say."

Breaking out in a cold sweat, his younger cousin could sense waves of murderous intent rolling off of him. For a moment, Melissa considered fleeing and taking her boyfriend with her. She dropped that plan rather quickly. Judging as how Jonathan was coiled like a snake, ready to strike, she suspected neither of them would make it far.

"Eh..."mumbled the acolyte. Taking a deep breath, she suddenly blurted, "Ijustwantedtointroducehimtogege. Ifiguredsincehe'shereasanenvoy. Itwouldn'thurt. Alsohe'smyboyfriend. Sothat'sWayland. We'llbeonourwaynow!"

Her eldest cousin blinked as did everyone else in the room, including the baby leopard. She had spoken so quickly that her words seemed to melt together, exactly as she intended. Yet not everyone had been fooled by her ruse....

Still as a statue, Jonathan looked to be frozen in time. Yet, his mind was ablaze. Though he, like the others, had witnessed the verbal vomit, Jonathan heard one word that caught his very, very dangerous attention.

**Boyfriend**

_'Boyfriend?'_

_'Did she say boyfriend?'_

_'She said boyfriend?'_

_'SHE SAID BOYFRIEND!'_

Though he said nothing, both Melissa and Xiě could almost see his mental cogs turning, slowly reaching the inevitable conclusion.

"I don't think I heard you correct, Wàn," purred Jonathan, his eyes gleaming dangerously as they focused on the poor C.R.O.S.S. commander, "What did you say?"

"E-Eh...no one! No one at all!" squeaked the younger acolyte, hoping and praying that her cousin would somehow buy her response or the lack of one.

The room was deadly silent. Both Melissa and Wayland began sweating even more if that were possible. The look her cousin was giving her seemed almost to say "Oh really? You expect me to buy that? Prepare to die!" With that in mind, Wàn or Melissa did the most logical thing.

Grab her boyfriend and run.

Grasping his coat roughly, she tore out of the room like a bat out of hell, leaving the two older males in her proverbial dust. Though his elder cousin hadn't moved yet, Xiě tried to make himself look smaller, sensing the pent up rage that was rapidly building up in Jonathan.

"W-W-Wén?" ventured the younger male hesitantly. One look at his cousin's eyes, though, and he quickly kept his peace.

"Get back here!" roared the wizard, the air around him seemingly twisting and distorted from the sheer amount of rage.

Tearing through the halls, Wayland and Melissa weaved back and forth, throwing things behind them in an attempt to trip or at least slow down their murderous pursuer. Books. Scrolls. Vases and urns. Chairs and table. Even a few hapless scribes who happened to be there. All were thrown in the path of the very dangerous and surprisingly fast Léi Wén Fāng or Jonathan, as he was known in the West.

Alas, all was for naught.

"Get. Back. Here. NOW!" bellowed Jonathan, using a Napalm Beat spell to send one human missile flying off though a screen door. Tracing a symbol, he murmured, "_Avil. Eeras. Ul-pitel._"

A perfect sphere of crackling electricity flashed into existence in one hand. With a particularly vicious flick of his wrist, he sent it hurtling toward them, darting through the air faster than either could run.

With their backs facing Jonathan, neither could see the sphere of lightning. Still, the sensation of hairs standing on end alerted Melissa to the imminent danger, assuming the loud crackling did not.

"Watch out," shouted Melissa as she threw herself into Wayland, pushing both out of the way.

Flying past them, the Jupitel Lightning spell slammed into a huge shelf heavily laden with scrolls. Dust and smoke created a blinding cloud. Though they continued to run, both Wayland and Melissa saw a sight that chilled them to their bones. Or rather, what they did **not** see. Where a shelf once stood, absolutely nothing remained. The piece of furniture was completely obliterated. So much so that not even a single wood chip could be found. Eyes wide as saucers, the pair didn't spare a second to observe the destruction.

"Oh shi-"

"Another! Duck!"

Ducking and weaving, Melissa and Wayland somehow managed to escape the gauntlet of exploding spells unscathed. Still, the whole race soon came to an abrupt end. Turning a corner, the pair suddenly found themselves facing a dead-end.

"Shit," stated the acolyte rather astutely.

Skidding to a stop behind them, a heavily panting elder cousin looked on them with unsurprisingly vengeful eyes. "I've got you now," growled Jonathan, another electrical sphere crackling into existence.

"Quick the window!" shouted Wayland, grabbing his girlfriend's hand.

Before she could even respond, the soldier had hurled them both through a fragile screen window, leaving a trail of torn paper and splintered wood. Perhaps frozen in disbelief, Wén stood unmoving for several seconds before recovering. His face became a particularly deep and rich shade of red, a vein near his left temple pulsing rather angrily.

"Get back here, _gwailo_! I'll tear your arms off and feed them to porings!" snarled the man, leaping through the ruined window in pursuit, "Do you know how much it costs to repair these things!"

"G-Geez, he's still following us?" panted Wayland, feeling increasingly winded, "Why isn't he tired out yet?"

"If I knew," replied shorter girl, equally as tired, "I'd tell you. He usually isn't this fast or persistent."

Exiting the main compound, the pair attempted to lose Jonathan in one of the gardens inside the estate. This garden was particularly beautiful. Trees were placed strategically so as to provide sufficient shade, yet not so close as to blot out the sky. Flowers and other flora decorated the grounds as well. At the heart of the garden lay a large pond, forcing them to break off either left or right. The ground ahead of them exploded, another spell missing them by only a few inches. It seemed that Jonathan's aim was quickly improving. Suffice to say, they quickly chose a direction.

"D-Don't you have any spells to stop him?" wondered the soldier aloud, "I think me shooting him would only matters worse."

"I don't think healing him would-," began Melissa before suddenly falling silent, "I do have one spell! It's not much, but maybe it'll give a bit more distance."

Twisting herself to face their pursuer, she flung and hastily crossed herself.

"Oh Black Sheep, begone!"

There was a flash of intensely bright light. Burning a path through the garden of the Léi estate, a cross made of pure magic hurtled toward the chasing wizard. Not bothering to see if it worked, Melissa redoubled her efforts at escape. The target of the spell, though, was certainly less than pleased.

"That little piece of- "mumbled Jonathan his voice trailing off. Making a symbol of warding, he growled, "I cast thee to Hell, black sheep of Creation!"

The air around him twisted and writhed like serpents under a cloth sheet. Then abruptly, five spheres of shimmering light flashed into view. They orbited him once before darting like arrows toward the fleeing pair. One slammed into Melissa's spell, resulting in a small explosion as the two canceled out. The other four, though, moved unimpeded toward them. Despite weaving back and forth, Melissa and Wayland couldn't shake them off.

"Don't **you** have anything?" shouted Melissa, catching herself as she almost tripped.

"I'm pretty sure regular bullet won't help, but maybe these might," said the officer, pulling several bullets inscribed with various markings. Hastily loading a particularly heavy-looking revolver, he swung his arm back and fired four times.

Moving faster than the eye can follow, the tiny missiles slipped into the four chasing orbs. At first, the shots seemed nothing more than a waste of ammunition and effort. That is to say, it looked so until the four spells suddenly slowed and sputtered out, as if simply running out of fuel. No flash or grand explosion. The four simply died out.

"W-What the hell was that?" shouted Melissa, "I thought you said bullets wouldn't work!"

Chuckling sheepishly, Wayland answered, "Alchemically altered bullets. They're prototypes designed to copy the effects of holy magic."

"You're joking. Right?" asked the acolyte in surprise, stopping in her tracks. The look on her boyfriend's face was all she needed.

Further behind them, a certain wizard came to sudden halt, absolutely stupefied at what he saw. For several moments, he remained stiff as stone, unable to comprehend just what happened. In his entire magical career, he had never seen a spell of his so **easily** countered. To say Jonathan, ex-chairman of the Sanitation Committee, was miffed is an understatement. Even the words livid and furious come a bit closer, but still don't quite convey the sheer amount of rage that he experienced.

"That little pig fondler," growled the wizard, watching the two fleeing figures increasing their distance from him. Reaching into the folds of his robes, he retrieved a paper talisman*, various Louyanese characters written onto it. Holding it slightly away from his face, he bowed his head slightly, his eyes shut.

"Honor the prayers," he chanted, his voice soft but insistent. As he spoke, the characters began lighting up one by one. "Ancient ancestors that walked prior to our being, eliminate and destroy evil, extinguish the hundred demons of the world."

Without warning, a white flame ignited the paper charm, yet leaving the wizard's fingers unscathed. As the burnt ashes of the talisman scattered, the air began to move once again. Unlike the previous spells where space writhed and twisted so violently, the air parted gently, like a curtain pushed aside. Slipping into existence, five luminous human shaped figures hovered around Jonathan, each dressed in traditional robes and garb, waiting for the final command.

"Go forth!"

Without a word, their forms blurred. Moving as fast as Wayland's bullets had earlier, the spirits appeared to the naked eye as nothing more than glowing figures. Further ahead, Wayland had caught sight of the new dangers.

"Eh. Mel, what are those?" asked the soldier, pointing at the shapes fast closing on them.

"He wouldn't. He couldn't. Oh shit! He did! Run!" blurted the girl, turning to flee again.

"W-What did he do?" pressed Wayland as he fought to keep up with her.

"You know how mages in the West summon various spirit to use _Soul Strike_?" said Melissa, "Well, we in the East have our own version of that, and we don't use just any spirit. Wén-gege went and summoned some of our ancestors!"

"Scheiss!"

In their desperation to escape, neither noticed that the five spirits had long since caught up and were hovering menacingly over Wayland.

_"Gwailo, stay away from my cute cute great great granddaughter!"_

_"Leave my great grandniece! I'll tear your lungs out!"_

_"I'll gouge your-"_

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

The spirits halted their tirade. Looking down, they stared at the strange hole that each now had in their chests. Wayland's revolver, meanwhile, was still smoking slightly.

_"You shot me? You damned dog fond-"_

The spirit never finished his sentence. Fading into nothingness, the spirit was followed soon after by the other four.

"Do you think they'll be upset?" asked the C.R.O.S.S. commander sheepishly, "I really didn't want to..."

Looking at her boyfriend pointedly, Melissa replied with mild sarcasm, "I don't know. You did just **shoot** them. But whatever- Wait a moment. Please tell me you aren't standing on top of what I think you are."

"Huh?" came a confused response, "It's just a bush or something right?"

Although Wayland had no clue what he had trampled underfoot, Melissa knew all to well. Unfortunately for the officer, her older cousin did too. Let's just say that he was...less than happy.

"My tea plants! Those were a new strain!" screamed the wizard, "First you date my dear little cousin behind my back. Next you shoot my ancestors. Now you trample my plants, _gwailo_? I'll rip your eyes out and make them into a laxative!"

With a deft flick of both hands, dozens of paper talismans suddenly appeared in his hands.

"Honor the prayers," muttered Jonathan, all the charms igniting in unison, "Ancient ancestors that walked prior to our being, grind evil to dust, shatter ten thousand demons. Go!"

Whereas his previous spell had been gentle and subtle, his latest was definitely not. The very ground shook as over two hundred ancestral spirits literally erupted into existence. Bursting forward, the spirits fell from the sky like a flood. Had they not been luminous, the ancestral spirits very might well have blotted out the sun as they descended on the pair.

"R-R-Run faster!" shouted Wayland spotting the horde of _very_ angry spirits. Noticing that he had run past his girlfriend, he quickly backtracked. "What're you doing, Mel?"

The young acolyte had suddenly stopped. Clasping a blue gem in one hand, she was muttering a slur of words so quickly that he couldn't make heads or tails of it. Then, something clicked mentally. She was casting a Warp Portal. For some reason, the idea hadn't occurred to either of them earlier.

"Hurry up," urged Wayland. Though they had put a great deal of distance between them and her cousin, the spirits had already covered most of it and were awfully close. Close enough that he could see the very dirty looks they were giving him.

"Wait did that one just flip me the bird?" pondered the soldier before he vanished in a flash of blue light.

And just in time too. A few seconds later, the area they were standing in literally disappeared the spells exploded and was engulfed in blinding light. Still, their lucky escape was noticed. Still as a tree, Jonathan just stood there. Whether it was from shock or some other emotion, it isn't known. What followed afterwards, though, is known and has long since been labeled as the "I will plumb Hell's depths" speech.

"I practically have spies everywhere and no one would dare hide you. Do you think you can escape me?" asked the wizard quietly to himself, his voice close to a growl.

"I WILL SEARCH EVERY BUILDING, CORNER, AND ALLEYWAY! I WILL PLUMB THE VERY DEPTHS OF HELL AND MAKE THE DEVIL CRY MOMMY UNTIL I FIND YOU!" ranted Jonathan, "BAHAHAHA-"

"_U-Um, sir_," ventured a tiny voice.

Turning on the unlucky speaker, Wén hissed, "What?"

"The tea you asked for," squeaked the female maid, holding a steaming cup of tea.

"Ah..."

Expecting to have been smoten on the spot, she was surprised when all she heard was a pleasant "thank you." Opening one eye, she was greeted to the sight of a smiling clan leader. Enjoying the beverage as if nothing was amiss, Jonathan downed the tea before handing the porcelain cup to her.

"_Do tell Ren to get some workers to fix up the garden_," said Jonathan in Louyanese, "_Now I really must get back to 's filth running about."_

---

_1 Hour Later_

"Where in the name of Heaven's balls are they?" shouted a certain silver haired spellcaster, pulling at his hair in frustration.

Despite his best efforts and the efforts of every single operative under the Léi family's patronage, both his precious Wàn and that dirty, filthy, stinking- Eh...I digress. Simply put, neither had been found. Suffice to say, Jonathan was quite a bit more than just unhappy.

Elsewhere, the two people Jonathan sought were out of breath and exhausted. Evading Melissa's cousin and all his resources wasn't exactly a walk in the park, although their earlier escape attempt certainly qualified as one. Barricading themselves in Jonathan's personal study at Melissa's suggestion, they were safe if only for the time being.

"Geez," sighed Wayland, gasping for breath as he leaned heavily against a wall, "What **is** your cousin? I feel like I'm being hunted by an entire assassination corp."

"O-Oh, I thought you knew," said Melissa, blushing slightly, "My cousin was the founder and former chairman of the Sanitation Committee."

"Ah," mumbled the young soldier. Then something in his mind clicked into place.

"The ex-head of the infamous Sanitation Committee is your cousin!" shouted Wayland, quickly lowering his voice as he reigned in his shock, "I knew your cousin worked for them, but I thought he was only a paper pusher or researcher. A desk job or something like that."

"Nope. As he puts it, he liked to be 'involved' with the operations."

Stunned, Wayland could only manage to mumble, "I'm dead."

Just then, a loud "BANG" caught their attention. While an optimist might believe that something heavy was dropped. Neither Melissa nor Wayland were stupid enough to delude themselves.

"Oh damn" said both in unison.

"By the command of the Lord of the Heavens," shouted a painfully familar voice, "Slaughter clear a path!"

Eyes wide, Melissa blurted, "Oh fu-"

Whatever she was about to say next was lost, the sound of crackling lightning and splintering wood drowning her words out. The entire compound shook as a powerful Jupitel Lightning spell detonated. Birds throughout the entire capital suddenly all took flight, screaming in alarm and terror. Back in the room where the two had taken refuge, pulverized wood and smoke hid everything in a dark haze.

Thrown by the force of the blast, Wayland had thankfully landed on something soft. Indeed, his face was buried in something warm and squishy. Because of the smoke, he wasn't able to make out what had cushioned his fall, though he was fairly certain that it was colored a shade of pink. Though blinded, the C.R.O.S.S. commander definitely could hear the sound of ever closer footsteps, bits of wood crunching beneath the source.

"Wind," came a simple command.

Melissa groaned as she felt a gentle breeze pick up inside the room. Something heavy and warm had landed on her, with any luck it wouldn't be anything sharp. Blinking blearily, she had intended to greet her cousin with something that might appease his fury when something drove that thought out of her mind. Jonathan's look of utter shock and fury certainly helped with that as well.

"Mmmm," mumble Wayland as he opened his eyes. Looking up, he was greeted to the tomato red face of his girlfriend. Logically, he deduced that she must of cushioned his fall. As such, the soft objects his face was resting on were...

"Aw shit."

Jonathan's study and the rest of the building that housed it erupted as lightning and fire exploded outward, providing a beautiful display of lights and sound for those lucky enough to be far away and unaware of what just happened.

--

RL: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter so far. As I said earlier, this is only part 1 of 2. The other chapter is already partially written and I'm working on it right now. Hopefully I'll be good and get it up soon. ^_^

As usual, please review if you have the time. It certainly does give me motivation to write. *cough cough*

Hehe, I'm joking of course, but still, I really do appreciate them. Until next time then~


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